Cataclysm
by macaronisofa
Summary: Gotham is in shambles, the GCPD scattered, Arkham Asylum destroyed and Gotham's most notorious criminals running free; Batman, Commissioner Gordon, along with some surprise assistance, fight for control of what's left of Gotham City. But who's really behind this chaos? For my Fiance ShadowDragon3221. Rated M for violence, language, and mild sexual content.
1. Gotham: Level 6 Catastrophe

" _The Starling City Police Department has declined to comment about the curious circumstances of the current crimes, but the we have been notified that the death count is rising. It was thought to be the work a previously unknown serial killer, but Captain Quentin Lance, of Star City Police Department, has assured us the crimes are unrelated and bear no resemblance to a recurring crime."_

Felicity watched the television idly, listening to the female voice as it reverberated through the now empty room. The news reported had been speaking for all but four or five minutes, and Felicity was already tired of listening; although she _had_ been looking for news about the recent murders.

Her friends were currently out on the streets, investigating the occurrences. It was strange, very unlike what normally happened in Starling City. And it was recent too. She had done quite a bit of digging and investigating herself, and Diggle had been the first to suggest that perhaps a _new_ serial killer was on the rise, but then, as the news reporter had stated, the crimes seemed rather unlikely, as they came off completely unrelated; as she dug through her records of them. All the victims were mostly unrelated, the methods of killing varied, but most involved a direct stab wound or blunt force trauma, or some type of strange accident. And strangely, in a few cases, the cause of death could not be determined. But there was one thing that all the victims shared...

They were all _active_ criminals.

Every single one of the victims in the recent homicides were still _active_ criminals, mostly higher end; the more dangerous type and less the occasional theft or beating types of criminals. To Felicity, it seemed perhaps the work of not one person, but perhaps a group of people banding together to form a sort of 'wannabe' vigilante group. Although they were going about being a vigilante in the wrong way.

She knew what vigilantes were supposed to be like. Sometimes she thought that she was in a movie or a comic book or something, instead of in real life. The events that transpired around her sometimes seemed too unrealistic to be true...but she knew they were really happening. And there were times, she wished, that she could be out there too, like Thea, and Diggle and...and Oliver.

But she also knew that they needed her right were she was, situated behind her computer, feeding them the things they needed to know and helping them from where no one else could. And so she resigned to her place with a smile on her face, knowing that even though she wasn't out on the front lines like her friends, she was still doing something to help; for the greater good.

But it wasn't just homicides that were happening around the city. Other strange occurrences were being reported all throughout Starling. And the most interesting one she had received was of a victim who had survived one of the attempted murders. He was a recently released convict, who had reported that the attacker had been wearing strange clothing; he had described the clothing as something akin to a costume. Black, with ornate carvings in what he described as pieces of silver colored armor. And he was very specific that his attacker had been wearing a hood and a mask, and carried a large knife, not unlike a sword or katana.

She sighed as she readjusted her glasses on her nose, reaching a hand up to rub at her tired eyes. She had been sitting here staring at this computer for half of the night, and her eyes were beginning to sting. She yawned loudly, shaking her head as she stood to stretch, trying to push all thought of Oliver out of her head.

The thought of Oliver Queen stung her deeper than anything she had ever felt in her entire life. Bile rose in her throat at the thought of it, and she swallowed it's bitter taste back down. Never had she felt so betrayed by anyone in her life...truthfully she could no longer even call him _Oliver_.

He was Al Sah Him or Ra's or whoever the fuck he was supposed to be now.

She rolled her eyes in annoyance as she turned back to her computer, locking the screen and shutting it down.

It had been a long night. She was tired.

She sat back down on her stool, leaning down to readjust a shoe, listening idly to the television as she straightened herself back up and did a once over of the room with her eyes, making sure everything was ready for lock down. Once she was sure everything was in place, she heaved an exhausted sigh, turning and grasping the remote with her right hand, lifting the remote and aiming up at the screen. And it was then the the news report caught her attention.

A series of long beeps, indicating an urgent message sounded from the television, cutting off the sports news, and it caught her attention immediately. The woman reporter from earlier was once again on the screen, a concerned look on her face as she turned away from someone off screen, once again looking into the camera as she opened her mouth, her face a mask of worried lines and a look of concern. Her voice faltered slightly as she said, " _Uhm_ ," she swallowed, her throat straining, "We have just received breaking news from the Starling City Police Department." Felicity watched with brows lowered as the screen cut to the face of Quentin Lance, positioned outside the front doors of the Starling City Police Department.

He squared his jaw, his face a hard mask of seriousness as he opened his mouth to speak, his voice rough and low as he spoke, "We have just received urgent news from Gotham City." A small widget appeared on the top left of the screen, next to Quentin's head with a picture of Gotham City's skyline, "All travel, into and out of, Gotham City, has been shut down and suspended until further notice, after a reported terrorist attack within the city limits."

Felicity's eyes widened as she stared at the screen, mouth agape, as Quentin continued; "Police reported a terrorist attack after several large explosions throughout the city, causing unknown amounts of damage and toppling several buildings."

Felicity gasped, bringing a hand to her mouth as she exhaled slowly. If she remembered correctly there was a vigilante like her friends who operated out of Gotham City. And Gotham wasn't far from Starling at all. What if Starling was next?

The widget in the corner changed suddenly, as it showed a live image of what Felicity would assume was Gotham City. The image took her breath away. It did look like there had been a terrorist attack. There was quite a few fires scattered throughout the city, a thick, heavy, cloud of smoke filling the air and blocking out the sky, and it was very hard to miss the several buildings that had been toppled. They took the image away quickly, and the camera focused once again on Quentin.

His voice was hard when he spoke, "Gotham is now being declared as a level six catastrophe; all entrances to the city are being blocked by police barricades, and anyone attempting to enter the city will be stopped by police, and relief efforts are to be sent out within the next couple of hours. As of now, the cause of the attack and those responsible remain unknown, but anyone with information is being urged to contact the Starling City Police Department or the GCPD immediately."

It was with that, that his speech was concluded, the screen cutting back to the original program, the sports report.

Felicity simply stood in place, staring at the television for a few long moments, before her delicately manicured hand reached downward to her pocket, fumbling to pull her cell phone from it's confines as she unlocked it and thumbed through the contacts until Diggle's name came up. She tapped on it quickly, her nails making a clicking sound on the screen as she raised it to her ear, listening to the ringing on the other end. She tapped her foot impatiently, worry and panic coursing through her.

She cursed herself for being so easily panicked, and resigned to working on it in the future, just as Diggle's familiar voice entered her ears from the other end.

" _Hello_?"

"Diggle!" She took a second to breath deeply, trying to calm her voice, "Tell me you have anyone you know personally in Gotham?"

" _No_ , why do you ask?" His voice took on a more serious tone as he began to pick up on the tones of worry and panic in Felicity's voice, "Is something wrong?"

Felicity swallowed the lump in her throat as she answered, "Where are you? Are you near a TV?"

"Well," Diggle sighed, standing from the kitchen chair and crossing over into his living room, dropping himself down onto the couch and reaching toward the coffee table for the remote, "I am now."

"Good. Turn on the news and see for yourself."

There was a long stretch of silence on Diggle's end, and Felicity heard the sound of the television in the background as he flipped channels, and then, echoing in the background, she heard the female reporter's voice.

Diggle watched the television as the reporter repeated the emergency message. Gotham? This was nothing new. The damn city had more going on in one night then all of their cities combined. It wasn't a surprise that something had happened there. But nothing of this caliber had ever happened. From the scant pictures they had shown the city seemed to be in a state of upheaval. Diggle shook his head as he dropped his attention from the screen to the carpet on the floor. This was definitely new. If they were sending in relief efforts and closing down travel than something serious must really have happened at Gotham. He readjusted the phone to his ear as he spoke, "I saw it."

"It's crazy right?"

"Are they sending any of our officers over to assist?" Diggle's voice was flat. He could hear Felicity's fingers tapping the keys on her keyboard, and it took her a few moments before she answered, her voice shaking slightly.

"I'm not sure. From what I'm getting off the website and radio waves, it seems like they just received a distress call from the GCPD." Her fingers worked faster, and her eyes darted around the screen as she searched for the information Diggle had wanted. " _Aha_!" She exclaimed, her face stretching into a wide smile, pressing her phone harder between her shoulder and her ear. "Got it."

Her voice streamed easily over the phone as he listened to her prattle, "They received the call from a Commissioner James W. Gordon of the Gotham City Police Department."

"Is it legit? I just want to know if we need to get involved. Laurel wouldn't want anything to happen to her father if he headed over to Gotham for a phony distress call. Enough weird shit happens over there."

"Hm," Felicity searched over the information she had on the GCPD commissioner, going over it with a keen eye before she answered, scrolling over the information, "He seems legit. Really no record to speak of, aside for a few traffic tickets and the such. He's ex military, joined the GCPD a couple of years ago...appointed to commissioner within the last three years." There was a pause as Diggle listened to her clicking, "He was the one who worked the Wayne case. He was a detective back then."

"He worked with Wayne?" Diggle rolled his eyes. The guy was a dick. And far to young to working as a vigilante. But they really didn't have the room to talk. Thea wasn't much older than he was. Diggle sighed audibly, and Felicity stood from her slumped position, putting the phone back in her hand and turning her neck to rid herself of the cramp that had formed.

"He seems like a legit guy to me. No bad reps or anything. Pretty much a straight shooter."

"Alright then. Keep us updated."

"You wanna contact Laurel and Thea? Let them know?" Her question hung unanswered in the air for a moment before Diggle finally responded.

"Laurel'll probably find out from her father, but...yeah. Okay, I'll give em' a call."

A smile stretched across Felicity's face as she shut her laptop gingerly, "Thanks Diggle. We'll all appreciate it."

"Sure." He paused for a moment and the phone rustled a bit, "Goodbye Felicity. Be safe."

"You too."

And she hung up the phone.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

" _Lance_!"

His name echoed throughout the busy room, voices drifting about, creating a loud cacophony that was the Starling City Police Department on a Thursday evening. It was already a whole lot busier than it should have been on a Thursday at six, and they had twice the amount of officers working than was usual. Quentin navigated his way through the crowded room, pushing past a group of bunched officers, as he made his way toward the voice.

He disliked disorder, and hated chaos.

And boy did this take the fucking cake.

He despised Jim Gordon for calling him in and causing such a commotion in his police department. He didn't even want to get involved, but as a police captain, he couldn't just sit by and watch disorder consume an entire city. After all, he had taken a pledge as an officer of the law, and if another officer needed assistance, they he would try his best to be there.

Commissioner James W. Gordon had phoned him not even an hour ago, asking for a reinforcement of officers. After what the news was calling, 'a random terrorist attack', Gotham City and the GCPD seemed scrambled and broken.

It had taken him, with prodding from several other officers and the such, to make a decision. He had phoned Gordon just about two minutes ago, to make him aware that he would be sending some officers to assist with the disaster.

And of course the media bombarded him with questions and criticism, as did his fellow officers, about why he would go himself.

And of course his daughter was abhorred to the idea, worrying over him and telling him to stay. But in the end they both knew that he couldn't. It was his job. He was the Captain. If he wouldn't go himself, then there was no way he should send his men.

And so here he was, grabbing his coat from the officer that had called his name, walking out the door and getting into a transport vehicle, heading toward Gotham City. He had a sickly feeling in his stomach that swirled as he felt the vehicle start and lurch into motion, the sirens blaring in his ears.

He didn't like Gotham City.

It was ten times worse than his and any other city that he could possibly think of. Sure, Starling had it's own batch of costumed vigilantes and nasty villains, but Gotham...Yes, Gotham had it's own vigilante. If Lance remembered correctly the man wore a bat suit and beat the living shit out of anyone who dared to oppose him. But worse than that, Gotham had the worst assortment of criminals that Quentin had ever seen, or could even imagine. Several images danced across his eyes; Harvey Dent, Gotham's once 'white-knight', who was now a dual personality freak who flipped a coin do decide whether or not he should put a bullet in your head, the green plant woman who was crazy about mother nature or some stupid shit like that, the woman in the cat suit he'd heard about who could steal anything given the right circumstances...

And then there was...the Joker.

The Joker was on another level entirely, and Quentin was overjoyed that the villain did not occupy _his_ city instead. Everyone in Gotham's surrounding area had been contacted personally by Gotham's own Batman, and the GCPD police commissioner, and had been warned profusely about Gotham's most notorious criminal. That guy was stuff out of nightmares, with chalk white skin that held the pallor of a corpse, that flip of bright green hair, those ruby red lips...and the smile that could chill you right down to your bones...

And then there was the laughter. The laughter was indescribable; the stuff that haunts you in nightmares.

All things Quentin had seen only on TV, however. He thanked the Lord he had never seen these things in life. And he had hoped he'd never have too. But here he was, heading to the worst city in possibly the entire continent. He just prayed he would never get the chance to meet the Joker...or any of them for that matter. But he guessed that if it happened, it happened.

He fingered his gun as they crossed the city lines, praying that it wasn't as bad as the news had portrayed it to be.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Survey the structural damage. Tell me which major buildings are still standing."

The voice was commanding, and it echoed off the damp cave walls as the owner crossed the grated floor in a pace that indicated his anxiety.

"No problem sir. It shall take me but a moment." Alfred's old hands traversed over the keyboard, as he looked up at the large computer screen in front of him. The ultrasonic images being portrayed on the screen showed an approximate amount of the damage that had been done in the area's of the explosions. Alfred frowned as he swiveled in his chair, turning to Bruce, who stood adjusting the cowl that now rested snugly upon his head; the silhouette of the Batman cast upon the dimly lit cave wall.

Bruce turned toward Alfred as the older man began to speak, his voice dry as he stood from his sitting position, "The are a quite a few major buildings left standing. Namely Wayne Industries, which has sustained minor structural damage, the National Bank of Gotham, which seems relatively untouched, the Royal Hotel, minus the damage sustained two years prior during 'you know who's' debut, and Gotham General Hospital."

Bruce stood still for a moment, taking it all in, as his gaze shifted from the floor to Alfred, then back to his armor, which he adjusted a little more hastily as he responded, "That's good. We'll need those buildings."

"I didn't think bats went out during the day, sir?" Alfred jabbed at him.

Bruce laughed dryly. "It's evening for one, and two, I don't have a choice. With the recent attack everything is in upheaval. Someone has to figure out who set off those explosions. It can't go unpunished. Lots of lives were lost." His voice was hard, and then he swallowed, and spoke again, "What about Blackgate Prison?"

Alfred sighed lightly, before turning back to the computer, and after multiple clicks, responded with a tired voice, "Fine sir."

"And Arkham Asylum?" Bruce added, almost a little too quickly as he walked over toward the computer, watching over Alfred's shoulder as the old butler typed away, bringing up a 3-D image of Arkham Asylum, circling the model round and round, before he answered, "It's fine sir. No damage to boot."

"Good." Bruce stood from his hunched position, moving away from Alfred as he headed toward where the Batmobile sat, open and ready to receive him as he stepped in, turning back to Alfred for just a moment to call, "Make arrangements for relief efforts to be headquartered at Wayne Tower for now. It'll be easier to maintain. Also," he adjusted himself as he put a foot into the Batmobile, "Send out a distress call to the Justice League. They'll let any vigilantes in the area know that Gotham City is in a code red."

"Of course sir," Alfred nodded, "Please, do be careful this time."

Bruce chuckled as he turned on the vehicle, "Obviously. Aren't I always?"

Alfred looked as if he might die for a moment, before he shook his head with a smile at Bruce, who returned it with a half-hearted smirk, turning the floor that the Batmobile rested on, and waiting for the passage to the surface to open up. He reached down with a gloved hand to put the Batmobile into gear, and that's when he caught it.

He stopped his movements immediately, shutting of the Batmobile and tilting his head to see if he could catch it again.

And he did.

A soft rumbling, that moved through the ground like a wave. The Batmobile door was open in a moment, Bruce stepping out of it and walking briskly toward Alfred, who had a rather confused look on his face. He opened his mouth to speak when Bruce cut him off; "Did you hear that?"

Alfred nodded.

And then it came again. The ground shook with the force of the noise, and rocks and pebbles came flying from the ceiling and for a moment Alfred was afraid that the entire Batcave would collapse, but then it stopped as abruptly as it had occurred, and he looked over at Bruce with wide eyes.

Bruce pushed Alfred out of the way in the gentlest way possible, bending over and typing into the computer. Alfred watched him, unable to see the screen due to Bruce's large form. Bruce was silent for a long time, before he finally moved, "Oh no... _shit_!," and then he turned, practically running back toward the Batmobile as Alfred called, " _Sir_?"

"Arkham Asylum!" And that was all Alfred could hear before the Batmobile's engine was roaring and Bruce was speeding out into the night. Alfred turned back to the computer, to see what had tipped Bruce off, and there was the 3-D model of Arkham Asylum they had been looking at earlier. But this time, half of the structure was red, and a large, blinking, 'Major Structural Damage' message flickered to the right of the screen. Alfred gazed softly at the place the Batmobile had occupied moments before, worrying that one of these days Bruce would not make it back home.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

 _A smile crossed his face, and his heart thudded in an oh so delicious way, as he gazed upon the masked vigilante in front of him. A shuddering, blissful, heart pounding feeling coursed through him as his hand tightened on the weapon in his hand. He had a feeling of rage so powerful he could not pinpoint where it was originating from, and a pain and regret so deep in his heart that he could not breathe, but his smile stretched even further across his face as the vigilante took a few steps toward him, the scowl evident on his dark face, eyes narrowed at him._

 _His tongue darted out to lick his lips, and he couldn't help but giggle with glee. This was it! He raised the gun in his hand, a shiny silver revolver gripped tightly in his hand, a finger resting on the trigger as the light glared off of the polished metal._

 _He laughed loudly as the tip of the barrel touched his temple._

 _And then he pulled the trigger and-_

He jerked awake, his body throwing itself upright in bed, heart pounding a little faster than it should have been, breathing quickened in a way that concerned him. He hadn't been having a _nightmare_...The cogs in his mind turned and ground against one another as he scanned the room with his eyes, waiting for a moment as they adjusted to the dark corners of the room. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and he even leaned over and checked under his bed, which was, of course, empty.

He shifted himself, jumping a bit as his bare feet touched the cold concrete floor. He giggled a bit, wiggling his toes, before he moved toward the glass in front of him. He gazed back and forth out into the large hallway, eyes jumping from the cells across from his, to the ground, and down each side of the hallway. Nothing seemed wrong but...something was off. It was like a persistent itch that you could not scratch, it nagged at the back of his mind, and he pressed his face against the glass to see if maybe he would see something he had missed. Something had roused him from his sleep...and he'd been having a good dream too!

His bottom lips jutted out in a pout, before he rolled his caustic green eyes and turned back to his cot.

Perhaps it had been nothing after all. The product of a deranged mind! He giggled.

And as he sat down, there was a rumbling.

For a moment, he jumped out of the cot, startled, thinking perhaps that maybe he had caused it. But no, it happened again anyway, louder and stronger this time. He raised an eyebrow as he raised his eyes slowly toward the ceiling, muttering, "What in the hell?"

A piece of the concrete form the ceiling fell off, landing on his forehead. He brushed it off, irritatedly, before once again fixing his eyes upon the ceiling. A small crack had formed on the ceiling, and he squinted at it, and for a moment thought that maybe he was seeing things. But no, the crack widened quickly, and the rumbling sound came again, this time, he felt it, winding it's way up his legs and into his bones. And then a smile stretched across is face as he stared at the crack with a look of recognition; and he nodded at it.

"I see." His voice was a whisper. He had only a second.

He twisted his body painfully, before launching himself sideways, landing heavily on the concrete floor and sliding under the cot the best he could, his pale right arm darting out from under the bed and grasping the mattress in his hand, pulling with all his mind as it fell down beside him. He could hear the seconds ticking by in his mind as he shimmied the mattress on top of him, wheezing at the weight, maneuvering his arms up to his head as he crammed his fingers into his ears.

It came fast.

The explosion was so loud that his fingers did barely anything to help. He pushed his body as hard against the concrete wall as he could, hoping that the mattress was covering him adequately as everything around him shook with force. The explosion was deafening, it was like a rap to the brain that left him rattled, his ears ringing so loud that any other noise was drowned out, muddled, like he was underwater. It brought pain in his head and then everything was black.

He opened his eyes again, acutely aware of the burning in his lungs and he frantically threw his head from side to side, trying his best to move an arm up to his mouth and finally, finally, he gasped the air that he desperately needed. Getting the air wasn't as easy as he had expected it to be, and he was very much aware of the pressure that he felt all over his long body. He huffed, and with his free hand he attempted to move the mattress of him. But it was as if it was made of lead, and his efforts yielded little results. Something had to be on top of him, weighing him down and crushing him. He placed his pale palm against the cold concrete, trying his best to shimmy his feet so that they pressed against the ground; and then he pushed, beginning the arduous process of removing himself from underneath the rubble. His head was the first to emerge. He had been correct.

A few large slabs of concrete had crushed the frame of the cot, landing atop the mattress and weighing it down.

He conceded that had the mattress been absent he probably would have been crushed to death.

He declined to think of it that way.

He groaned as he moved further back, his hips sliding out from under the mattress, and then finally, with one last grunt and a burst of effort, the rest of his body was finally freed. He gasped loudly, scooting himself backward with effort, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. A nervous giggle escaped his lips as he pushed off his palms and brought himself to his feet, wobbling slightly as he regained his offset balance. His eyes scanned the remains the the remnants of his cell. The ceiling and right wall had been completely blown out, and the slabs of concrete the explosion had brought with it lay toppled over the cot and throughout the room.

The glass keeping him from escaping lay shattered from the force of the explosion, and to say the least, it was in shambles. Joker took a few tentative steps forward, mindful of the glass at his feet.

His feet made a crunching sound as he traversed over the glass, stepping out into the hallway. His hearing was coming back to him slowly, the loud ringing in his ears subsiding and being replaced by a loud beeping sound. AT first, he thought that perhaps it was his ears still, but then, as he saw the flashing red lights in the corners of the room, he realized it was an alarm.

Code level red alpha.

Something was very wrong.

His ears pricked as the ringing disappeared, his unsteady vision returning to him as his rapped senses recovered themselves. His head swiveled as he looked around, green eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. All the surrounding cells were empty...save for a few bodies that were obviously dead. Panic overtook him for a moment, his heart thudding in his chest as his breathing quickened; how long had been unconscious?! It couldn't have been very long, he was sure. Long enough for whatever patients in this bloc were alive to make their escape.

"Shit." He cursed audibly, before a smell in the air caught his attention. He wrinkled his nose at it, lowering his eyebrows as he sniffed at the air. Rotten eggs...a terrible smell, and he forced the air back out of his nostrils, "Ick..." And then it struck him. His head turned slowly, back toward his cell, up toward the large gaping hole in the ceiling. And that as when he saw it. A jagged pipe, painted yellow, hanging jaggedly from the broken ceiling. And for a moment he hoped, prayed, that his eyes ere playing tricks on him, but no...the air around the broken pipe was shifting, waving, and he knew it was gas.

A burst of adrenaline shot through his body as if he'd been shocked, his heart jumping into his throat as his head shifted from one exit to another. The exit behind him, the main exit, Joker noted, was blocked, covered by falling concrete, and so he twisted his body around and ran for the other door.

He winced as his foot caught on a piece of jagged glass, and he knew it would bleed as he made a mad dash toward the door. The door was electronic, and was set to open when someone approached, but instead, due to the blast, the door remained stuck in a half open position, trying vainly to open and close with no success. He reached the door in moments, breathing heavily, bending his large frame down and turning himself slightly, as he tried to squeeze himself through the narrow opening that was left by the door, hoping that it did not as he was going through and crush him.

"Hey! You! Stop right there!"

His head snapped in the direction of the voice, eying a guard pulling himself from the rubble of an empty cell. Joker raised an eyebrow, calling back to him as he pushed himself another inch forward, "I'm sorry officer, I can't hear you over all this... _destruction_!"

He watched as the guard stood up on shaky feet, stumbling and falling to his knees as he reached behind himself to pull his gun from it's holster. "I said, stop!"

Joker's eyes widened considerably, as he tried frantically to push the remainder of his body through the small opening, hands grasping at the metal door in an attempt to push it open further, shouting, "Are you crazy?! You'll kill us!"

The Arkham guard, however, didn't listen, and instead pointed the gun at him, and pulled the trigger.

The crack of the gun echoed throughout the room, and the bullet moved almost in slow motion, and that was all it took. The fire that exploded from the end of the gun, and traveled throughout the air like lightning, branching off of itself all the way up to the pipe...and then the air itself caught on fire. With a mighty heave, Joker pushed himself one last time, as the fire came to meet him in the face.

The heat was unbearable as it blasted him in the face, sending his lanky body flying backward through the air, his stomach doing a flip as he lifted his arms to try and shield his face with a cry of surprise.

His body struck the wall with force, his spine striking a metal stud sticking from the wall, forcing the newly gathered air from his lungs, his head snapping backward and cracking off the wall, bright splotches of light exploding in his eyes, as his body plummeted back to the floor, dropping like a stone.

"Ah! Fuck!" He landed heavily on his arm, twisting the wrist at an awkward angle as his forehead connected with the floor. The structure shook heavily, the metal and concrete of the building cracking and collapsing with the force of the explosion.

Joker's head was swimming, and with a groan of pain he forced himself of his injured wrist, turning over onto his back and clutching the appendage to his chest with a frustrated growl. "Stupid!" He screamed to the ceiling, as he held his arm to his chest and struggled to his knees.

He fixed his eyes on the door he had been blown through. It lay now in shambles, completely collapsed, fire lapping through the cracks that were left in the door, the heat radiating from it and drying his eyes, bringing tears to them as he looked away, struggling to his feet, and wincing at the pain that exploded up is spine. He huffed, frustrated, stretching his neck from side to side as he turned away from the ruined door and headed towards the exit.

He needed to leave. Now. Arkham Asylum was broken, it was falling apart and it was collapsing and he needed to leave. The thought of being buried underneath the asylum, dying on accident, no Batman, no last laugh no nothing...the fear wound itself up around him and choked him. His feet moved with more purpose now, shuffling as he struggled to keep his bruised spine upright. The elevator was just around the corner, and it wouldn't take him to long to get there...so he took off.

His feet were unsteady beneath him, and pain radiated through his body but he pushed forward. If it had been a gas leak that had caused the explosion, then he had no time to lose. Arkham Asylum rested upon an island, isolated from the rest of Gotham city, sitting on the edge of a cliff-like drop down into Gotham's bay. And to make matters worse, the Intensive Treatment Ward rested a story underground, which was were he was located.

How bad had the rest of the asylum been damaged? The building creaked overhead as he rounded the corner, bringing his hands up to shield his face from the fire that leaped from the wall on his right. The elevator gate was wide open, but the elevator was gone. He gripped the edge of the elevator's opening, long fingers gripping the metal as he leaned forward, peering downwards into the shaft. He smiled. The elevator rested securely on the bottom level, right below his floor. He pushed himself backward, away from the shaft, reaching over pulling the lever to call the elevator to him.

The thought that they say never to us elevators in a fire occurred to him for a moment, but he smirked and shrugged. When had he ever listened anyway? The elevator rattled beneath him, and the cords strained as it rose up to meet him.

"Code Level Red Alpha, evacuation in progress." An automated voice boomed over what was left of the loudspeakers, stinging his ears as he winced, and glared upwards toward one of them, "All personnel and patients are to evacuate imm-" The voice was cut off abruptly, followed by a hissing sound and a horrid electronic sound, before it was silenced once again.

Joker took a loud breath before stepping onto the grated floor of the elevator, pressing the button for the main floor. The only thing he was concerned about was getting out of here, honestly. He just needed to go one floor up, that was all. Just one. The elevator began screeching again, and he watched as it began it's ascent. His heart was in his throat, and he struggled to control his erratic breathing as he tilted his head upwards, shifting around anxiously. Just one floor. Just one, and then-

The elevator stopped abruptly, hard enough to send him stumbling backward into the wall. "What the-" He huffed, pushing himself back to a standing position, taking a few steps forward The elevator had stopped halfway up the exit door. "Goddamnit!" Joker screeched, frustration boiling in his blood as he cursed again, punching the elevator button and growling when it would not move. The cords holding the elevator were creaking, and Joker could feel the elevator shifting under his feet, tilting to different sides as the damaged cords lost there strength. He crossed towards the elevator door, sticking his fingers between the two gates and attempting to pull them apart. But his efforts remained fruitless.

"Come on, come on," He pleaded, reaching over and pressing the open button repeatedly.

With a hissing sound, the doors opened, revealing the gate that would allow him to exit the elevator. He let out a sigh of relief, reaching up and prying open the exit gate. It slid open with ease, and he gazed up at the ceiling for another moment, listening. The elevator jerked suddenly, sliding down slightly as the cords kept creaking, and he knew they would break. The building shook once more, and he gripped the wall to keep himself steady as it passed. Something was very wrong. He gripped the ledge of the main floor, heaving with all his strength, as he pulled himself upward.

His head emerged from inside the elevator, and for a moment he was afraid his body would not fit through the small opening he had. But he pulled anyway. His fingers gripped at the tile floor, slipping as he pulled himself forward, inch by inch. It was then that the elevator cords finally snapped, and he heard it before he felt it, the cords snapping under the weight they could no longer hold, their burned and damaged weaving finally giving under the pressure that had suddenly become to much. The elevator dropped like a rock, missing his ankle by mere inches as he threw himself forward, drawing his legs into his body as the elevator dropped.

The crash resounded loudly, shaking the floor as the cords that still remained anchored to the elevator zipped down with it. He took a few heaving breaths, crawling over to the ledge and gazing over.

The elevator was ruined. Caved in and dropped, blocking the elevator exit for anyone on the lowest floor. Extreme Isolation. He shook his head. No time to worry about it now. He needed to leave, immediately. He pushed himself up off the cool tile floor, brushing the dust and rubble of his torn uniform as he turned back toward the main floor. Intake. He rushed forward speed-walking, as he entered the lobby. He gasped. The explosion had affected the upper floors as well. The second floor had caved in, dropping heavy chunks of concrete and tile onto the main lobby's floor effectively piling themselves in front of the exit, blocking the doors from being reached from either direction. An upper body stuck out from under the rubble, face twisted into a disfigured grimace, blood pooling in his mouth and trickling out from the sides, eyes blown wide and bloodied. The uniform he was wearing indicated to Joker that he was a guard.

Joker took special pleasure in kicking the body in the head as he walked past, rushing towards the windows. They were tinted, preventing outsiders from seeing in, and patients from seeing out. He raised his fist, and brought it down on the glass. The force of the blow rocketed up his arm as he hissed in pain, but he brought it down again and again, the reinforced glass holding it's own against his blows.

And it was then that a shadow appeared on the other side of the glass. Joker's eyes grew wide, he opened his mouth to speak, but closed again at the realized futility of trying to speak through the reinforced glass. He whipped around, scanning the intake room with a keen eye, before running over and grasping the toppled chair from behind the receptionist's desk. He heaved it over himself, and threw it.

It flew heavily, hitting the window with enough force to crack it,the chair breaking and toppling to the floor in several pieces. He moved swiftly back over to the window, reeling back his arm and punching the glass as hard as he could.

His fist pushed through the glass, and he could feel the sharpness against his skin, ripping it open as his knuckles were met with the cool night air. He pulled his fist backward, becoming aggravated when it remained stuck, so he wrenched it backward, physically hearing the ripping of skin as he wrenched it free, hissing in pain and pulling the injured hand in towards him, bending over and putting an eye to the hole in the glass.

He was met by black.

He pulled back, using the already injured hand to push away more of the cracked glass, opening up the hole enough so that he could see through with his whole face. Solid iron bars met his gaze, covering the whole of the window, but he had already known they would be there. A security precaution on the end of Arkham Security. But that was not what caught his attention most. A black gloved hand gripped the bars tightly, and a cowled face stared back at him through the hole he had made in the window.

"Joker!" The voice was gruff.

"Bats." His voice was calm, but he cursed himself when he heard it shudder. He opened his mouth again to speak, a thousand words screaming through his cloudy mind, but he was silenced by Batman's, who spoke to interrupt him; "Joker, is there anybody else with you?"

Joker swallowed, craning his neck to scan the room behind him, before turning back to Batman and shaking his head, "No, nobody. I think, I," he huffed, swallowing again and licking his lips, "I need to leave."

"I know." Joker had not expected the Batman's voice to be so calm. But it was a fake tone, Joker knew. It was the tone you used when coaxing a madman away from the edge of skyscraper. "This way is blocked."

"Obviously!" He snapped back, face twisting into a grimace, breathing heavily.

The Batman growled low in his throat, but did not reprimand as he continued, "There was a gas leak. It's caused multiple explosions already, and it's probably going to cause more until the gas is shut off. The GCPD has officers underground to shut off the gas supply. But until then, you're inside a ticking time bomb. The balcony on the third floor isn't damaged yet. If you can get there, I can get you out."

The Batman's words resonated in Joker's muddled mind, as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing. His head hurt so badly. He glanced back and forth nervously, licking his lips, and Batman made note of his nervousness as he awaited an answer. "How many others have you gotten out already?"

Joker's voice was a threat.

Batman answered anyway. "A lot." The answer was simplicity.

It angered Joker anyway. Batman watched the clown's disfigured face twist into a look of hatred, before a noise in the background caught his attention. Batman watched through the small hole in the tinted window Joker turn his head, looking behind himself, and then he was gone out of view for a moment.

"Joker!" Batman called after him, bending down to try and get a better view through the hole. He couldn't see, however, and took a step back when Joker's face reappeared suddenly. Joker's caustic green eyes burned into Batman's blue ones for a few long moments, before Batman restated his question. "Will you get to the third floor, so I can help you? Or not?" It was more of a statement that a question.

Joker took it as so, and nodded slowly, eye's locked to the Batman's, radiating emotions that Batman cared not to pinpoint. And it was then that the clown disappeared from his view. He sighed, agitated. It did not take long of being in the Joker's presence to push him to the point of being so irritated that he'd rather push a pencil through his eye that to deal with Joker.

But he always dealt with Joker anyway.

He turned away from the window, walking across the parking lot to where the cop cars were stationed at a safe distance, blocking the entrance to the asylum; surrounded by several patient transport vehicles, which held the patient's who had escaped or had been extracted before the most recent explosion, which had destroyed their only safe entrance.

Detective Jim Gordon stood at his patrol car with Harvey Bullock, as Batman approached. "Jim."

Gordon nodded, acknowledging him as he approached, "Batman!" Jim turned way from Bullock, who looked irked by the conversation being cut short, and turned toward Batman, a look of concern in his eyes as he asked quickly, "Who was that? What happened?!" Jim winced as his question came out as more of a demand, but Batman simply ignored it as he glanced from the hole in the window to Jim.

"The Joker."

"You kidding?" Jim's voice was filled with disbelief, quickly replaced by indifference, "Of all the patients we're still missing, him?"

"Yes."

"And what did you tell him? That building is a ticking time bomb, and if we don't figure out which gas pipe we need to shut off, that asylum will be nothing but ashes in about an hour." Jim shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he gazed at the asylum behind Batman, flames leaping from some windows, the building half collapsed; the destruction was obvious. Jim sighed. "What are we going to do?"

"I told him to get to the third floor." Batman pointed toward the side of the building. "There's a balcony over there. The door's still usable, and that side hasn't collapsed yet. I told him to get there as fast as he could."

"The balcony's hanging over the bay. And if he gets there?" Jim already knew the answer, and he couldn't deny the slight anger that boiled within him over it.

"I'll pick him up."

"Of course you will." Jim rolled his eyes, resting a hand on his hip as he looked up at Batman, "There are so many other patients still in there."

The question hung in the air.

Batman did not answer it.

"I'm picking him up."

Jim sighed, shaking his head and turning away, back to Bullock. "Where's our backup, anyway? I contacted Star City not too long ago."

Bullock laughed haughtily, arms crossed as he leaned against the patrol car, "You expect those guys to be in a hurry to get over here? What kind of crazy fucker would want to _willingly_ come over here?"

Jim just sighed, pushing past Bullock and leaning into the car, reaching out and grasping the radio. "Dispatch."

"How can I help?"

"Where's the SCPD backup that was requested?" Jim rubbed his face with a free hand, wiping the sweat off on his pants, despite the cold fall night air.

"Currently heading towards Wayne Tower. Relief efforts hub."

"Thanks." He dropped the radio down carelessly as it bounced off the car seat and fell onto the floor as he pulled himself out of the car, closing the door just a little bit too hard, causing Bullock to wince at the noise as Jim turned to him and hissed, "Get your head out of your ass, Bullock."

"'Scuse me? Kiss my ass, Gordon!"

"The city is falling apart, we have no idea who this terrorist is and why their targeting our city, hundreds are dead, survivors are in _that_ building," he gestured toward the shambles of Arkham Asylum, " _right_ there, and you're standing out here with your thumb up your ass!"

"You wanna fight Gordon? Is that what you're after?" He rolled up his sleeves, "Cause it's been a long time coming!"

" _Enough_!"

Batman's voice was loud enough to startled them both, as they turned in his direction. Bullock simply sneered at him, but Jim nodded his head, sending a disgusted look in Harvey's direction before he said, "No, you're right. There are more important things to do than fight with each other. And with that gas leak...I don't think the balcony will be there when Joker gets there." Jim sighed heavily, meeting Batman's eyes for just a moment, "And if you think he's still worth saving...then...that's what we'll do." And with that he walked past Batman, back toward the building.

"Jim!" Bullock called after him, but Gordon ignored him, taking a walkway down beside the ruined building. Bullock made a move to go after him, but Batman raised his hand, "No, leave it be. I'll go after him."

"But why should I-" Batman was already gone. "Asswipes," he muttered.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

He threw his head back and emitted a guttural, feral, howl of rage, before hitting his injured fist repeatedly against the wall. After a few punches, he finally stopped, fist resting on the wall as he breathed heavily, refocusing his attention and turning back to the intake. All of the other ways he knew where either blocked off, on fire, or destroyed completely. He jogged back the way he had come, passing the broken window at the front and heading back to the elevator shaft.

But he stopped for a moment, gazing at the receptionist desk. It held a small red button, with the word 'emergency' printed neatly above it. He knew what it did. He rolled his eyes, turning away, but something stopped him. With a sigh, he made a split second decision, a long white finger pressing the button into the desk, before he continued his run back to the elevator shaft.

He stood at the edge, his toes hanging over the edge, as he gazed down at the elevator, the jagged chunks of metal sticking up at him like the teeth of a monster. He smiled, and for a second a stab of regret gripped him, and he considered jumping down. But if passed as quickly as it had come, the smile widened, as he took a few long steps backward; cracking his knuckles.

"Here we go."

He ran forward with speed, long legs crossing the distance in seconds, he waited, timing his stride, and then with a bend of his knees, he vaulted himself into the elevator shaft.

He hit the wall with force, hands scrapping down the wall as he fell, desperately searching for a hold, before he found it, and his body jerked to a stop, a fiery pain spreading through his shoulders.

"Ouch." He muttered, gazing downward as he dangled dangerously over the jagged chunks of what was left of the elevator, his feet swinging idly as his finger's strained with the weight. He shook his head to shake the idleness off himself, maneuvering his feet until he found a foot hold.

He reached up slowly, muscles straining with the unexpected effort, as he gripped another piece of metal jutting from the wall, as he started his ascent. He ascended slowly, one hand and one foot at a time as he climbed, muscles burning and fingers and hand cut by the jagged edges of the elevator shaft. He was acutely aware of the cost of his failure, so he was careful, but the weight of the ticking clock weighed on him more heavily. He was slightly below the second floor, and he could see the ledge that lead to it by turning his head around. It was as if a clock in his head was ticking down, and he took a deep breath to calm himself, before he gingerly let go of his hold with his right hand, turning his body around and angling it toward the ledge of the second floor.

"Okay," He said to himself, "Okay, you got this. Just a jump, real easy...real easy." He swallowed the lump in his throat, before launching himself away from the wall.

For a moment he was afraid he would miss it, but then his finger's hooked against the ledge, bringing his body forward and slamming into the wall, nearly winding him. He would have kicked himself for being so unprepared, but instead he tilted his head back, readying himself for the next jump, up to the third floor landing. He rooted his feet to a good launch point, scrunching his body like a spring, before he jumped again.

This time though, his confidence was misplaced. His left hand slipped from the edge, having not seen the pool of blood dripping from the edge, and his right hand caught him, barely. He swung dangerously, his heart racing, chest heaving, as he swung his feet and tried to move his body toward the wall.

But as he was learning, moving your body in the air was not as easy as it was when you were on the ground. He grimaced at the pain that was snaking up his arm and into his shoulder.

" _Ahh_ ," he groaned as he gripped the ledge even harder with his fingers, digging them as best he could into the ground, as the muscles in his arm bulged and he reached up with his left hand, trying to get a better grip; he was almost there, the fingers of his left hand almost touching the edge; and then a small hand wound itself around his wrist.

Joker jerked back instinctively, but the hold was steady as it began tugging his left arm upwards. The size of the hand and the strength with which it pulled was reminiscent of a child, as the hand pulled him up just far enough to let his hand land securely on edge. Joker let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding, as he gave whatever strength he had left to pulling himself up.

Once he was high enough, he placed his elbows securely on the tile floor, twisting just so that he could get a leg up on the ledge, and then finally, he was up, back on solid ground.

And that's when he turned his attention to the hand. It's own stood huddled against the far wall, paralyzed in fear and shaking, as the large green hat hid most of it's face. Joker recognized this as the Mad Hatter.

"Jarvis!" His voice was full of familiarity and a happy to see you attitude, but the Hatter simply stood in fear as his miniature form shook and he stared up at Joker with a look of fear, his voice stuttering and terrified as he said, "I-I-I knew you could do it, I-I-I just didn't w-w-want to see you f-fall."

Joker looked down with eyebrows raised, before a smile marched it's way across his face slowly, as he decided on a course of action. "Of course." He made a show of bowing to the midget man, before giving him a mockery of a salute as he said, "Thank you sir!" Before smiling at him, taking in and thoroughly enjoying the aura of dread and fear that emanated from his fellow criminal.

He took a step forward, and the building trembled.

It took all but a few seconds before the trembling was followed by a loud cracking sound, and Joker nearly lost his balance as the floor tilted suddenly to the right, the hallway that lay in that direction seemed to concave in the middle, like a trick of the eye, before it was apparent what was happening. The floor was collapsing in on itself.

After that it was no longer tilting. The floor turned at an extreme angle taking with it everything in it's path.

Joker wasted no time. He turned, and ran, followed suit by the Mad Hatter; the echoes of there feet on the tile drowned out by the groan of a building collapsing, as it tilted to swallow them. Joker yelped as he felt a piece of broken glass slice into his foot as he ran, but he ignored the jagged pain as he ran, feeling the Mad Hatter's presence right behind him as the furniture in the hallway began sliding back to meet them.

A large computer broke from the wall, it's entire unit coming tumbling toward them, and Joker twirled nimbly out of the way, taking on last leap and grasping the doorway into the next room, pulling himself to safety, but a scream caught his attention.

Jarvis was still in the collapsing hallway, running toward him with a gash on his side, having been hit by the sliding computer after Joker had dodged it. He was limping visibly, and he reached out with a hand toward the Joker, a look of desperation in his eyes as he cried out, "Please! I helped you!"

Joker's eyes widened as the event unfolded in front of his eyes, and he reached out as the floor finally collapsed fully, stopping at the doorway.

His long nimble fingers wound easily around Jarvis's hand, holding him tightly, with ease as if he were a child, his small frame dangling above the rubble two story's below. The Hatter looked downwards, before looking back at the Joker, and gulping. But the mistake he made was looking him in the eye.

He was met with a caustic green stare, the malevolent intent clear in his eyes, and it was then that his true intentions became clear, as Jarvis eyes fell from the clown's green ones, down to the smile that graced his face, and suddenly it was moving, the Joker was moving in twitchy, shoulder heaving movements, and then it filled his ears. The sound that had been the last countless others had heard.

The empty, haunting, soul-piercing laughter.

Joker leaned down lifting Tetch just enough so that he could whisper to him between giggles, "I never asked you too."

And that was it. The white right hand, covered in Joker's own blood, that held Jarvis' hand securely, released.

Tetch held onto Joker's hand with a mighty grip, desperate, as he screamed no, over and over and over, pleading and kicking and screaming and trying to claw his way up the Joker's body unsuccessfully. Instead, Joker simply allowed him to cling to his arm, watching Tetch scream and struggle and beg with a smile on his face and his laughter haunting the air.

But Tetch felt his grip slipping. The Joker's blood, oozing from numerous cuts in his right hand, slipped down into Tetch's palm, trails of it running up Tetch's arm and over his skin, slickening his grip and suddenly he was sick, and his vision was strange and he wished that the laughter would stop...and then his body jerked involuntarily, and he was falling.

The laughter didn't stop until Tetch's body had rolled out of view.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Jim's feet crunched along the gravel walkway, around the large tattered building. He was aware the Batman was behind him, his black booted feet landing heavily as he walked behind him. Jim inhaled deeply, before he spoke.

"Sometimes...I just can't stand him."

"It's understandable." Batman acknowledged, as they circled the building. But it wasn't long before Batman stopped him, pointed toward a pile of wood. "There."

"What?" Jim asked in confusion, shaking his head and walking over, crouching down to look at the small wood pile that was perhaps hiding something he wasn't seeing. But after a few moments of looking, he stood back up and shook his head, "There's nothing here."

"There is." Batman walked over the same way Jim had, but instead of inspecting the pile, with a forceful shove it toppled it over, and then he kicked whatever was left of the pile out of the way. "This was no accident." He then raised his heavy booted foot, and dropped it back down onto the muddy earth. But instead of the squishy sound of mud, Jim heard the sound of rotting wood. He smiled.

"Amazing." He moved over as Batman backed away, and he bent down and brushed away the mud, running his hand over the ground until he finger's snagged on a piece of metal jutting from the ground. "Ha! Here we go." He tugged forcefully, until the entire piece of wood pulled upwards, before breaking off it's rusty hinges and sending Jim falling backward onto his rump.

"Ah, shit!"

Batman simply eyed him with an unreasonable expression, and Jim tried to stifle the redness that was slowly creeping across his face as he stood up and brushed the mud of his pants, walking back over towards the passage the Batman had unveiled. "Ready?" He asked Batman idly.

He was answered with a grunt.

Jim went first. He walked tentatively toward the muddy edge, before jumping down. He fell quite a bit farther than he would have imagined, but he still landed on his feet with a grunt, straightening and taking a few steps forward, looking around. It looked more like a basement than anything, and when he looked back up toward the passage, it seemed that it had not always been there. He turned away to look around again, but yelped in surprise when he turned to meet the Batman.

"Whe-" He was cut off.

"That passage was made recently. Whoever started the gas leak explosions made a quick exit through that way. I'm guessing...they were professional."

Jim sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as he had done several times that day before nodding and agreeing, "Yeah, I noticed that too." He looked back up to Batman, only to see his form slowly retreating around a corner. "Hey! Wait!" Jim jogged to catch up with him, before falling in step behind the large vigilante.

"How do you know where you're going?" Jim asked, gazing up at the tall ears of the cowl.

The Batman simply tapped the cowl itself, grunting in response, as he held a small device in his hand and took various turns around was was quickly becoming a large utilities basement.

"Here we go." Batman stopped abruptly, and Jim walked into him, before backing up and muttering an 'I'm sorry', before turning to see what Batman was looking at. It was a small device set into the wall, and for all Jim could tell it was a meter that measured the density of something, similar to gas; and he could not tell why Batman had so much interest in it. But it wasn't long before the Batman was pushing past him, breaking into a run and yelling, "You need to get away from here, now! Clear out any patients from around the building!"

"What?" They climbed the ladder back out the hole they had come through, "I thought we were trying to shut off the gas."

"I told you," Batman said as he walked briskly toward the other side of the building, heading evidently toward the balcony, "Whoever was responsible was a professional. There is no way to shut if off. It hast to play it's course."

Jim stood dumbfounded, as Batman called back to him almost angrily, "Evacuate! Now!"

Jim nodded, turning back and running toward the patrol car, vaguely aware of screaming that sounded like it was coming from the second floor.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Joker moved away from the doorway, the smile vanishing from his face. Tetch's fall had not mattered. The blood from Joker's hand had smeared. It covered his right and left, and from the moment Tetch had grabbed him in the shaft...well...the laughter returned as Joker walked his way through the destroyed hallways, the open double doors to the balcony staring him in the face as he limped toward them, ignoring the jagged piece of glass embedded in his left foot.

He gasped as he exited into the cold night air, dropping his head back as he stared at the starry night sky, giggles escaping him.

"Joker."

The smile stayed, but the giggles cut off abruptly, as moved his pupils to the right, toward the voice. His head turned toward it slowly, as the form of Aaron Cash took form in his vision. "Cash," he countered. His smile widened, as he turned his head away from Cash, back toward the bay, and then he pointed, his bloody finger indicating in the direction he was looking, before dropped it limply back down to his side, the smile all but gone from his pale face.

"Someone's been playing in my sandbox."

" _Your_ sandbox? _Yeah_." Aaron Cash walked up beside him now, weapon lowered, pointed toward the floor as they both looked out over the coastline of Gotham City; the flames and rubble in the distance, smoke clouding thick in the sky. "It's been hell all day."

"I..." Joker stopped for a moment his tone and expression blank, "Wasn't aware..."

Cash could see the cogs in the Joker's demented head turning, and the jigsaw pieces coming together as he replied quietly, "None of us were...nobody was ready."

Cash tilted his head to look at Joker, and Joker tilted his head to look at Cash. They looked at each other for a long moment, before Cash watched the smile slowly return to Joker's face, an aura of silent danger and shackled malevolence surrounding him, and he laughed...

" _This_...was _no..._ _ **accident**_."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Sir, Stage Two of Phase Three has been completed."

"Good...then why are you here?" The voice was uninterested, as the dark, hood covered form stood idly at the large window.

"There has been...an unexpected interruption."

"I dislike interruptions."

"Well," His voice was now unsure, unsteady as he swallowed and continued, "Someone else has just moved in on Gotham City, my Lord." He was nervous.

There was a long sigh, as the figure straightened from it's hunched position at the window. "I am aware." There was a long stretch of silence that followed. "There...has been a change of plans." The hooded figure traced a hand over the window sill, before stilling once as his underling spoke.

"What should I tell them?"

Another heavy sigh, as the hooded figure straightened, gazing out of the window longingly, pulling an ornate silver blade from it's sheathe, watching the moonlight shimmer off the metal. "Tell them..."

"We move on Starling _tonight_."


	2. Arkham Asylum Tragedy

It wouldn't be long now. The clock that rested in the dashboard of the patrol car beamed like a timer at Jim, every added minute pressing in on him and suffocating him; the weight of the situation enough to hammer in his brain enough to cause a headache. He shook his head as he flipped the radio back and and searched for the correct station, fully intending to call in the evac. If what Batman had said was true, then they had little time to evacuate the rest of the survivors inside the asylum.

So he would call in their helicopter evac.

He reached out with shaky hands, trying hard to steady them as they wrapped around the radio, pulling the device from it's stand and bringing it to his lips. He held it their for a moment, finger hovering over the button, mouth slightly agape, as he searched his mind for any doubt that the decision he was making was the right one. But he couldn't see any other way, without sending officers into the building, which would mean more lives than necessary would be at risk. He sighed, hoping this was the right call as he pressed his finger down hard on the button, speaking with what he hoped was a confident tone, "Dispatch?" He awaited their answer.

Within a few seconds, the line crackled as a familiar female voice answered him from the other end, it's owner sitting safely at the GCPD, "How can I help Commissioner?"

He paused for a moment, swallowing the lump in his throat, before answering, "I need immediate evac via chopper at Arkham Asylum. Approximately twenty to thirty survivors, awaiting evac on the third floor balcony overlooking the harbor."

Her response was quick, "Of course, Commissioner. We'll send one right away."

The radio call ended promptly, the line going dead as Jim growled in frustration, throwing the hand held radio toward the floor of the patrol car, only to have in bounce a bit on it's cord. With a heaving sigh he unfolded himself from the patrol car, and stepped out onto the blacktop parking lot, trying to control his racing heartbeat. He turned his head toward Bullock, who straightened up from his leaning position against the side of the car, unfolding his crossed arm with a air of irritability about him as he walked over toward Jim, holding a megaphone tightly in his hand. Jim simply rolled his eyes, shook his head, as he reached out and snatched the megaphone from Bullock's large hand.

"Hey!" Bullock protested, lowering his brows, lip drawing up in a sneer as he stood fully, taking a few steps behind Jim as he walked toward the asylum. "Jim! I was talking to ya!"

Jim stopped a few yards away from the foreboding front doors to the asylum, and Jim couldn't help but think how misleading they were, hiding the madness within. He sighed as Bullock called to him, looking back over his shoulder out of the corner of his eye at Bullock, who was approaching steadily, "I've talked with the Batman. We're evacuating everyone from the third floor balcony."

Bullock stood beside him, taking half a step in front of him and partially blocking his view of the asylum as he shook his head and raised his hands, "Are you crazy Jim? You're gonna follow the instructions of Bat-break-some-bones?"

Jim scoffed, shifting his position as he snapped, "You have a better idea? _You_ wanna go back into that asylum?" Jim's tone was hard, daring Bullock to say yes. But instead, his partner simply sighed heavily, "Jim, listen," Bullock's tone had softened a bit, as he tried to reason with Jim, hoping to get somewhere, "You said that gas ain't gonna be stopped."

"Yeah."

"Jim that balcony's overlooking the bay." Bullock pointed out towards the asylum, "You pile a bunch of survivors on that balcony and the damn asylum explodes..." He trailed off, leaving the insinuation unsaid. Jim simply stared blankly at the ground, unfazed.

"And what would you have us do?" Jim asked sarcastically, his tone emotionless.

"Find another way!" Bullock exclaimed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Jim turned to him suddenly, fire in his eyes, "That's just it! There _is_ no other way, damnit!" He gazed heatedly at Bullock, the frustration evident on his face, "If we send any more officers in there, they won't be coming back!" Jim's voice was raising, and Bullock took a step back, hardening his face; Jim continued, "If the balcony collapses, the death toll will be a hell of a lot lower than if we sent a rescue team back into the asylum! And if it doesn't..." He sighed, and Bullock could tell Jim was trying to calm himself back down as he continued, voice much softer now, "If it doesn't...then that's a lot of lives saved. I don't want to put our officers in unnecessary danger."

Bullock crossed his arms again, "Jim, you gotta get over that! You've always had a problem with losing officers but damnit, sometimes you have to!" There was a long stretch of silence, and for a moment the thought that he had gone to far crossed Bullock's mind, but then Jim looked back up at him from the ground saying, "As long as I'm Commissioner...losing an officer will _Never_. Be. _Necessary_."

Bullock sighed and shook his head, "And about the evac-" Jim cut him off before he could begin ranting again, and he pushed past Bullock rather roughly, taking a few steps forward, raising the megaphone to his lips, pausing for a moment, before he began giving his instructions.

"Personnel and patients still inside the asylum," he began, taking a glance as Bullock took a few steps away for the sake of his ears, "this is the GCPD. If you can hear this, make your way to the third floor balcony in a calm and organized fashion, to await rescue." He licked his dry lips and swallowed before he continued, "ETA fifteen minutes."

Once Jim had lowered the megaphone, Bullock stepped back to his side, snatching it back away from him with a snobbish look. "I believe _I_ was holding this."

Jim scoffed at him, pushing past him with a hand roughly on his chest, heading back towards the patrol car. Bullock gave him a look of confusion as he followed swiftly behind him, reaching out and grabbing him by the shoulder, stopping Jim's movements and swinging him around to face him. "Jim, are you crazy?!" Bullock accused, his voice louder than he had intended. Jim didn't seem to care, but Bullock noted the way he seemed to prickle.

"No Bullock, I'm not crazy. I'm doing my job. And my job," he paused for a moment, his tone and expression hardening, "is to save lives. No matter the cost."

"Jim, think about it!" Bullock pleaded, setting the megaphone down on the hood of the patrol car, "Bringing a helicopter to pick up the survivors from the balcony is a pretty shitty idea!"

Jim turned back to Bullock, full of hostility as he spit, "Well it may be a shitty idea but we don't have many options, do we?!"

Bullock narrowed his eyes at Jim, "Don't get all pissy with me, Jimmy! It's a bad idea, and you know it!" Bullock poked a finger at Jim's chest, before gesturing toward the asylum, "Ninety percent of the fucking survivors in there are crazy criminal fucks!"

"Nice mouth you got there," Jim commented, as he looked up at Bullock, "So what do you expect me to do, Harvey?" Jim asked, "Let them die?"

"Well," Bullock paused for a moment, at a loss for words, "Yeah,"he repeated, "Yeah."

Jim simply grimaced, "You make me sick sometimes, Bullock. You know that?"

"Sure do, Jimbo," Bullock agreed, "But you know what makes me sicker?"

Jim met his eyes reluctantly, "Do I want to know?"

"You might," Bullock stated honestly, shrugging. "What really makes me sick is the damn Batman." He gestured to the side of the building where the Batman had disappeared, "Putting saving one bat-shit crazy lunatic's life above the cost of countless others. That's what makes me sick."

Jim shook his head, "It's not like that. It's not to save him. Batman looks at it this way," Jim tried to explain, "if we don't get the Joker into custody first, imagine how many more lives could be lost because of him?" He cleared his throat, "You know he's dangerous."

"So let him die."

"Just...forget it." Jim turned away, shooing him off with a flick of the wrist, and Bullock simply snickered as he followed Jim around the patrol car. "Goddamnit!" Jim swore, kicking the tire of the car as hard as he could, breathing heavily.

"Something wrong Jim?" Bullock laughed, mocking him as he reappeared in view as he leaned against the open car door with a smile of smug satisfaction on his face.

"Shut up, Bullock."

Bullock simply rolled off Jim's snip as he said, "Just face it, the copter is a terrible idea."

Jim rolled his eyes and sighed, dropping his tired head onto the edge of the roof of the patrol car, bringing a hand up to massage his temples and the bridge of his nose, before he chuckled ominously and raised his head to meet Bullock's eyes, "What's the worst that could happen." He laughed dryly at his own try at sarcasm.

Bullock responded equally, "I dunno Jim." Bullock shrugged, shaking his head and looking over at the asylum with a smile on his face, "Maybe the fucking asylum will fall on top of it."

ooOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

A smile crossed the ruby red lips of the Joker, as he continued to stare at the sky, the announcement of the GCPD still echoing. Suddenly, the air became heavy, thick and enveloping, weighing heavily. The Joker's smile stretched even wider, his pale face wrinkling with the force of it.

He heard an intake of breath from his right. His body began buzzing.

"You know what I have to do." Cash's voice was soft, and his statement hung idly in the air over them. The Joker inhaled deeply, lungs filling with cool air.

The Joker's voice was a stark contrast to Cash's smooth, deep, tone, "You don't have to."

There was a momentary pause, "I do. It's my job, Joker. You know that."

There was an audible sigh, "Alrighty then."

The movement was swift, fluid. Cash turned toward him instantaneously, lifting his rifle and aiming it towards the Joker. But Joker was ready. He countered Cash's movement quickly, sidestepping so that the barrel was no longer aimed at him, and then his pale hand struck like a snake, fingers wrapping tightly around the barrel of the weapon as he moved away from the line of fire.

The inevitable struggle ensued.

Cash pulled the weapon the force, attempting to wrench it from the Joker's strong grip as he said, "Joker please! Let's make this easy!"

But Joker wasn't planning on listening. Instead his left hand rose quickly, coming from the side as it curled into a fist, striking Cash with force in the right eyebrow.

"Ah!" Cash let out a disoriented screech of pain as his body stumbled to the right, dragging the gun that was attached to him by a strap and the Joker along with him. Joker took a small step backward as Cash fell to one knee, smiling and laughing as he lifted a foot and planted it on the older man's chest, pushing hard as he pulled the weapon in the opposite direction. The strap attached to the gun stretched audibly, the clasp that attacked it to the weapon cracking and creaking with the force.

"Damnit Joker, stop!" Cash bellowed, the strap tightening painfully around his shoulders, the foot on his chest digging into him excruciatingly. For a moment Cash paused, an idea running through his head as he smiled in turn at the Joker, the smile catching the Joker of guard as he gave a look of confusion.

And then Cash let go of his grip on the gun, watching in amusement as the barrel struck the Joker in the forehead, eliciting a cry of surprise as his head snapped backward, the pale hands dropping the rifle to clutch at his face, and Cash took advantage of the Joker's moment of confusion to get a secure grip on the white ankle at his chest. Feeling the grip on him Joker attempted to jerk away, but instead Cash stood forcefully, with difficulty, effectively toppling the Joker backward onto his back.

Joker growled in frustration as he landed heavily on his back, the air rushing out of him, aggravating the injury he had received from the earlier explosion. So he simply lie there breathing heavily ,dropping his head back on the concrete and turning it back and forth as Aaron Cash's face appeared in his field of vision, the tip of the gun staring him down. For a moment his eyes widened as he stared at it, a flash of fury passing over them before he chuckled, smiling, as he shifted his green gaze from the gun to Cash, and back again.

"Are we done?" Cash asked, breathing heavily and wiping away the blood that trickled down from a split in his quickly bruising eyebrow, the area swollen from where the Joker's knuckles had connected. His face was twisted into a scowl of irritation, as he awaited an answer. Joker noted his finger placed firmly on the trigger of the weapon, no inkling of hesitation in his eyes. So Joker sighed, raising his palms up in front of him in a signal of defeat.

"Get up." Cash ordered, taking a step back from the patient as Joker clambered to his feet, palms raised in defense. When he spoke, there was a tone of humor in his voice as he giggled, "Alright, _alright_ ," he met Cash's eyes, "I'm _sorry_. I was just _testing_."

Cash did not smile in return. He simply stood there, eyebrows lowered in a scowl as he hissed, "Testing _what_?"

"You're grip on the gun." Joker then shrugged, dropping his eyes to the floor as he muttered, "Thought maybe I could get a hold of it. Nope." He shook his head and then a series of giggles followed, and Cash looked away from his animated face, disgusted.

The smile eventually dissipated from Joker's face slowly, and he raised an eyebrow at Cash as he muttered, "Tough crowd."

It was then that a sound from inside the asylum caught their attention, Cash glanced over the Joker's shoulder, searching the darkness inside the asylum as the Joker turned around, tilting his head from side to side as he too, searched the dark interior of the ruined asylum.

"Footsteps," Joker said aloud, looking back at Cash to see his reaction. Cash simply nodded as he answered, "Survivors. They must have heard the announcements. Get over here, _now_."

Joker gave Cash a blank look that said, 'really?', when the guard raised the gun at him, waiting for him to move to the designated location. Joker rolled his eyes, irritated, as he moved over to the corner of the balcony Cash had directed him too. He watched, interested, as the guard stepped in front of him. Cash gave him a hard look, trying to keep his and Joker's bodies as far apart as possible, as a smile crossed Joker's face as he said, "We're not gonna kiss now are we?" He rolled his eyes dramatically before gazing back at Cash, "Because now is hardly the time."

When Cash's face twisted in disgust, Joker burst out into hysterical laughter having received the expected reaction. It was then that people began to emerge from the ruins of the asylum. The first was a group of patients, like the Joker, wearing tattered and bloodied uniforms as they walked out onto the balcony, followed by a few orderlies. Joker made note of how many more patients there were than orderlies, and every single one of them was very much worse for wear.

Most of them were covered in soot and rubble, blood caking their bodies and some walking with a limp. Two patients emerged carrying the remnants of their friend, one of his legs twisted and mangled, and his face covered in blood as he lie in their arms limply. Joker watched as Cash turned his back to him, to face the emerging patients and staff. For an instant he felt the urge to jump him, wrap an arm around his neck and squeeze the very life out of him, to watch his soul escape from his eyes as he took his very last breath. But then he decided against it, standing complacently behind Cash as the black man's voice boomed around the many voices of the survivors.

"Listen up!" Cash raised hi gun and made it obviously known, "According to the GCPD a helicopter is gonna come and rescue us before this hellhole blows the fuck up. But until then, I want all patients to move to the left side of the balcony, and stay very, very calm..." His voice was commanding but he tried his best to calm the situation, "and don't make any sudden movements. If anyone has a weapon, lay it on the ground now."

The patient's eyes searched Cash as they watched him, and Joker knew most of these minds were demented, or damaged beyond repair. But they were afraid. They watched Cash with trembling, injured bodies, and eventually, they complied. Various things like pipes and shivs were laid on the ground, as they pooled themselves on the far side of the balcony, the crowd splitting between the orderlies and the patients, moving apart like the waves of the red sea.

Cash's brown eyes watched them intensely, as he scanned the group of people in front of him. It wasn't looking good, and the balcony was so crowded that you couldn't take than a few steps without running into someone else. He sighed heavily, the gun weighing heavier than usual in his tired hands. His experienced eyes could see that the patients were getting on edge; which was half the reason why he was trying his best to block their view of the Joker with his own body. The presence of chaos incarnate was sure to either rile them up, or make the anxiety of the situation even worse. As he scanned the situation once more, he heard the Joker shifting behind him.

Joker shifted his position, pressing himself back a little further into the stone railing so as to give himself a little more distance between himself and Cash. He felt squished a feeling akin to claustrophobia washing over him and he wished the guard would move and give him some breathing room. But of course, as Joker expected, he did no such thing. Instead, much to Joker's chagrin, Cash turned around, crowding him further, fixing his dark brown gaze to Joker's blank eyes. His voice was low and shushed as he spoke, "Alright, until this situation calms down, you're going to stay right here; no talking, no moving, no nothing."

Joker simply stared him down, green eyes uninterested, swirling with a hint of frustration, and Cash could have sworn he saw the rage flickering behind them, but wrote it off, about to speak once more, but a crackling on the radio attached to the shoulder of his uniform interrupted him.

"Cash, this is Gordon. Can you hear me?"

Cash's yes widened, as he fumbled with the button on his radio as he spoke, "Gordon!"

"Batman's on his way to pick up the Joker. Keep him secure until then."

At the mention of the Batman, Joker's eye lit up visibly, a green fire igniting in them as his eyes focused on the radio, a smile spreading across his face. Cash eyed him suspiciously for a moment, before pressing the button again and answering, "Alright. He's secure. We'll await his arrival."

The radio shut off.

The smile never left Joker's face as he mouthed, 'He's coming.'

Cash did not return the smile. Instead, he pressed his mouth into a thin line, casting Joker a firm look before he said sternly, "Don't even think about it."

Joker's smile dropped, and his eyes narrowed in Cash's direction, before he finally nodded, staring Cash intensely in the eyes for a few more moments, before Cash watched his green gaze flicker to the right, out over the water, and then he looked at Cash out of the corner of his eye, and he said, voice barely a whisper, "This won't go down well."

"What?" Cash questioned, eyebrows coming together in confusion, turning his head to follow Joker's gaze out over the bay. And there it was. The helicopter, coming out over the skyline of Gotham City, just now crossing the water and coming closer and closer with every passing second. "It's here!" He exclaimed, before he remembered where hew as and quieted himself immediately, to avoid causing a panic. "Alright, its my time now."

Joker raised an eyebrow as he tore his gaze from the helicopter, watching Cash as the older guard pushed his way to the middle of the balcony, leaving Joker unprotected and alone in the corner as his voice began to rise up over the voices of the surviving patients and orderlies, "Alright! The helicopter is almost here! When it arrives, I want you all to remain calm, and move in an orderly fashion. Orderlies go first, then patients. If we do this calm and safe, everyone will be evacuated."

Joker smirked. Wrong thing to say. It caused an immediate uproar on the patients side, and Cash jumped visibly with surprise, as their voices raised, and one patient in particular, a large man with a muscular build and bald head, turned and met gazes with the Joker. Joker simply smiled slowly at him.

The man broke Joker's heated gaze, and then suddenly his voice raised over the other patients as he pointed at Cash and shouted, "Where do you get off making us wait? Why are they so special?!" The patient pointed a large finger at Cash. Cash turned in surprise to the voice, gazing from the man's pointing finger back to the man's face, before opening his mouth to speak in return.

"The orderlies go first so they can help manage the situation." Cash did his best to keep his voice as calm as possible. The other man responded oppositely.

"So what?! They better than us?! We can manage our fucking selves without your damn help!" This caused an uproar, as the patients surrounding this man cheered and raised their fists, turning to Cash in a menacing way. Joker knew what was coming. Cash was blind and stupid to thin that he alone could calm and control it.

He turned back toward the water.

The helicopter was almost here, it's wings turning at a speed so fast Joker's eyes could barely register the blades, and he cringed at the noise that followed with it's approach. Cash raised his hand as a warning to the uprising patients, who were angered that the orderlies took precedence over them. But Joker knew it was the truth. To the Arkham Guard, the GCPD...he, and the rest of them, were expendable. Not worth a true effort. It wouldn't matter if they lived or died, as long as the innocent and healthy minded people were safe. Didn't matter if he and the patients were sick...

The only one in Joker's eyes that saw them as indispensable was the Batman, who cherished all life and loathed the loss of even one. Joker knew that personally, after all they've been through... _so far._ If Batman was willing to keep saving _him_ , than Joker was assured that Batman would save all life if he possibly could. But such things were foolish...and impossible.

The helicopter roared as it neared the balcony, and the crowd upon the balcony turned in fear towards it, the rotors spinning rapidly as the helicopter tilted at a sickening angle, the three cops and the pilot visible as it approached the building sideways, the open side doors beginning to level with the stone railing of the balcony. The three cops inside of the copter became steadily visible, one sitting in the pilot's seat, looking over his shoulder at the balcony as he lowered the copter to an appropriate position for evac, and two poised skillfully at the open doors, rifles held steadfastly in their hands. The one on the left of the open door spoke first, voice nearly screaming to be heard over the roar of the spinning rotors, "Alright everyone! If you could please make your way onto the chopper in a slow and safe manner, no sudden movements, we will be able to evac you to safety as soon as possible."

And just as Joker assumed, it did not go down well. Cash nodded to the police officer, turning toward the small group of three or four orderlies and ushering them forward. They shuffled slowly, one walking with a heavy limp, all held a look of fear and anxiety in their tired eyes, and Joker locked gazes with one of them as he passed. Joker had known that orderly intimately; the man had been the one they had chosen to send in and drug him repeatedly, so that he was in a permanent comatose state for almost a year before Batman had found out and put a permanent stop to it. Which Joker was, in fact, grateful for. But he had definitely imagined sticking a needle through the orderly's eye multiple times, and when the orderly caught his gaze the man jumped, a look of terror in his eyes, hurrying his scuffling feet as he was the first to reach the chopper.

The first cop bent down at the knees, outstretching a hand to the male orderly and grasping it roughly. Joker watched as they assisted him into the helicopter, and seated him in the back, unable to be seen.

And that was all it took.

Everything after that happened so fast it was hard to figure out what had caused what. As soon as the male orderly had boarded the copter, the group of patients went wild. The man who had called out to Cash earlier broke away from the group first, obviously the initiator of the ensuing chaos. The patients stormed the helicopter forcefully; immediately weapons were being grabbed back up off the ground, as the patients pounced on the orderlies and Cash.

Joker watched this unfold from his position in the corner, as he scanned the ground frantically with his eyes, searching for something, anything, to help him defend himself should the need arise. He darted forward with precision, crossing a few feet with shuffling footsteps, grabbing a knife from the ground with a tense hand, and retreating quickly back to his previous position, but before he could reach his corner, he felt a hand grab him roughly from behind, it's strong fingers digging into his flesh, spinning him around to face the attacker. It was the tall, muscular man from earlier, his bald head covered in someone's blood, and upon seeing the Joker's face he promptly released him with a smirk and a nod of admiration. Joker smiled back at him, raising a hand in a salute and mouthing, 'Godspeed', before they turned and ran in two different directions; Joker back to his corner and the man back into the fray.

Joker backed up into his corner, crouching down at the knee and leaning his back against the stone wall, watching the chaos before him unfold. The patients jumped the orderlies, using whatever weapons they had picked up off the ground. The terrified nurses scattered in different directions, one of them clambering up into the helicopter, two running back into the asylum, and the rest attempting to fend off their attackers. It wasn't long before there was blood running across the stone floor in rivers of red, and Cash was yelling, threatening; he himself had taken down two of the patients already.

Joker crouched down like a snake, body coiled and ready to strike, watching as the panic took a deadly turn. But it was then that something else caught his attention. His eyes flickered as he turned his head toward the fence of the asylum, and there, perched on a guard tower, was the Batman. The same familiar smile crept itself over Joker's face, as he turned quickly back to the man who had started the riot. He watched him, hoping to catch the man's eye, and sure enough, he did.

Joker waved at him from across the balcony, before yelling, "Hurry! He's here!" And pointing in the direction of the Batman's painted silhouette.

The man seemed to understand instantly, his gray eyes focusing on the object of their attention, yelling over the screaming voices of the others, "Go! _Move_!"

The patients stormed the chopper without hesitation, all in a mad scramble to save their own lives. It was like something out of a horror movie, the bodies climbing over one another towards the same destination. The two officers in the chopper stood at the door, eyes blown wide and voices yelling, blocking the entrance with their bodies as they yelled, " _No one_ gets on this chopper!"

The second officer yelled in tandem, "Stop or we'll shoot!"

The threats did nothing deter the patients. The officers raised their guns, and for a moment the patients hesitated, but then Joker caught sight of the same man again, and for a moment he wished that he could have learned his name, perhaps he would have made a good henchman someday, _but_...The man stepped on the back of another patient, dropping the man heavily to the ground, and with a mighty leap, he launched himself forward towards the helicopter, arms outstretched. With a strong arm, he latched a hold of the rifle pointed towards them as his body weight pulled him down between the helicopter and the stone wall.

The officer dropped forward like a sack of sand, screaming as his hold on the rifle pulled him forward as the larger man dropped off the balcony, digging his feet into the chopper's floor desperately. And everyone seemed to stop for a moment as the officer and the large man fell out of view, below the chopper and under the balcony, and for a few moments, nobody dared to move.

Joker watched the scene, eyes darting back and forth, from one man to the next, and then back up to the remaining guard on the helicopter, who had a look of horror on his face; the officer raised his gun immediately, pointing it at the patients who had begun to grab hold of the chopper to pull themselves into it, screaming with a cracking, shaky voice, not at all threatening, "Get back! I mean it!"

A whooshing sound from behind turned Joker's attention, as the foreboding form of the Batman came steadily closer as he continued his glide toward the balcony. He turned his head back to the guard, just as a patient pulled himself up into the chopper.

"Wait! _Don't_!" Cash screamed at him in vain, trying his best to push his way to the chopper, as the patient reached out toward the officer's gun and they struggled. Joker held his breath.

The shot thundered like a crack of lightning in his ears, his eyes squinting with the force of the sound. His ears rang and he watched the fire leap from the barrel of the gun; head turning as he followed the trajectory of the bullet with eyes blown wide and mouth agape. He knew what would happen even before it occurred.

The crowd below seemed to still and go silent for a moment as the noise from the shot echoed over the large expanse, finally their actions weighing heavily upon them, and then the bullet struck against the metal bars covering a cell window on the fourth floor, shooting into the room and shattering the dirty window as glass rained down.

And the sparks rained down with them.

What happened next was entirely expected.

The sparks flew through the air and the bullet shattered the cell window as it entered the tattered asylum, and the sparks from the metal bars danced through the air for only a moment, before their heat ignited the very air itself. Joker watched with wide eyes as the air itself exploded in flame, the reflection of the orange glow reflecting in his green eyes, racing in through the broken window and disappearing from their view. And then the panic started. The cop with the gun pulled the rifle back heavily, before thrusting it forward and hitting the offending patient in the nose with it, toppling the man over the edge and back down onto the balcony as he landed with a thud on his back, screaming as the blood rushed from his nose and over his hands and face.

The officer then, with a disgusted and horrified look on his face, turned, shouting to the pilot, "Get us the _fuck_ out of here!"

Cash caught wind, twisting his body around, forcing his way through the crowd towards the balcony's edge waving his arms and screaming, " _Wait_! No, you can't!"

He received a steely glare from the remaining officer, as the helicopter tilted dangerously, the rotors picking up their speed as it moved to gain space away from the balcony. But the patients were having none of this. They piled upon one another like a wall of human flesh, grasping and jumping and pulling at the helicopter as Cash screamed for them to stop.

The weight of the bodies piling on the edge of the copter was too much, and with a sickening grinding sound it tilted dangerously, thrusting the rotors into the balcony.

"Watch! _Get back_!" Cash's voice boomed as he threw himself away from the edge of the balcony, trying to drag with him as many patients as he could, even now thinking of nothing but saving lives, as the heavily bladed edges of the rotors descended down upon the front row of the balcony. Joker moved as he saw them come near, throwing himself forward onto the ground and crawling his way toward the far wall at a frantic pace, looking back over his shoulder and pulling his feet in towards himself just as the metal blades passed inches from his coiled body.

The terrified screams cut off almost instantly, and the blood was splattered inevitably everywhere, and it hit the Joker in the face unexpectedly, warm and sticky and _red_ , and it smelled of copper everywhere as his hand instinctively reached up to wipe the offending liquid from his eyes, his other hand steadying him from the ground.

" _Ugh_ , gross!" He exclaimed, wiping furiously at his face in a vain attempt to remove the fluid from his face; but when he looked down his clothing and the rest of him was also covered in a shade of deep scarlet, and he could feel the blood soaking through the fabric and leeching it to his skin. He raised his head to survey the damage, the helicopter still roaring in his ears as the pilot struggled to level the machine. The entire front row of the balcony had been swept over by the rotors, leaving a deep gash in the concrete where the blades had passed; and inevitably, everyone standing in it's wake had been obliterated. The scene before him was not a pretty one, and as he continued wiping furiously at his face, his eyesight beginning to clear, he scanned the gore around him with a look of distaste. What remained of the bodies of whoever had been standing in the way lay haphazardly strewn about; tissue and muscle and sinew and gallons and gallons of blood coated everything and everyone around them, and he could have sworn that he saw a pair of feet still anchored to the position their owner had been occupying moments before.

For a moment the urge to vomit washed over him strongly, his stomach flipping in a horrible way and the bile rising in his throat, but instead he swallowed it and laughed nervously, as the sounds around him began to drain back into this ears; and he became vaguely aware of the shouting of the officers on the plane, and Cash's frantic voice, the terrified screams of those who had escaped the blade's path, and the agonized, haunting, cries of pain of those who had survived but had failed to move away completely in time.

And it was here on the ground as his laughing increased to an ear-splitting volume, that he felt a strong hand wrap almost painfully around his left bicep, and yank him ungracefully to his feet.

He stumbled as he tried to regain his balance, his footing awkward, but the anchor on his arm prevented any type of fall as it pulled him roughly back up straight. Joker turned to face the owner of the offending hand, although he already knew to whom it belonged. The Batman stood before him, black gloved hand wrapped securely around his arm, fingers digging into the skin painfully, and the smile stretched across his face even wider as the laughter subsided to breathless giggles.

" _Hi, Bats_." He was aware of the frankly horrific state he was in.

The Batman did not respond. Instead, he reached behind him to his belt, and in his hand appeared a pair of handcuffs. Joker pouted as Batman roughly applied them, their metal clicking signifying the taking of Joker's freedom, and then the Batman spoke, "We need to go. _Now_."

"But," Joker's voice was breathless almost, his previously pounding heart leaving the shakes in it's wake as he turned back to the balcony, then back to Batman, "But, _wh_ - _what_ -" He cursed himself at his inability to produce a coherent sentence, a stuttering problem that he had had since his earlier life, that often returned at random intervals with a vengeance. Batman simply stared at him blankly, head tilting toward the carnage for nay a second before refocusing on Joker's face, his voice flat and toneless, "It doesn't matter now. Gordon's handling it. You're my first priority."

Joker smirked for a moment, the Batman's words sinking into his mind for just a second before he uttered, "I'm _flattered_ I'm so _important_ to you really, but," he swallowed, turning his head towards the helicopter that was tilting in different angles as the pilot desperately tried to gain control of the chopper, as he subtly pulled his right hand out of the handcuffs, "don't you think that-" He was interrupted by the explosion that followed.

It was thunderous, loud and earsplitting, and so disorienting that he brought his hands to his head in an attempt to cover his ears as he leaned over slightly, wincing. Batman stumbled backward as the balcony shook uncontrollably, his lower back connecting with the stone wall as he put a hand against it to brace himself. Joker twisted his body around to face the asylum, eyes squinted as he pressed his ears harder with the palms of his hands, a painful ringing blocking out most of the sound around him. Another explosion caught them off guard, throwing several of the remaining survivors to the floor, and Joker followed suit, losing his footing and falling backwards, landing heavily on his rump, unable to stop himself because he was unwillingly to show Batman that he had escaped the the one handcuff.

He looked up as Batman stepped in front of him, back to the asylum, and Joker watched as his mouth opened and moved, but he could hear no sound coming from his lips as he watched in confusion, his vision tilting slightly with disorientation. But there was something he saw. Behind the Batman, from the one window that remained unbroken on the balcony, was a blindingly bright fiery glow, and he opened his mouth to shout a warning, something, anything, but he couldn't even hear what was coming out of his own mouth as Batman went to reach down to him, but was a second too late.

The window behind him exploded outward, the very air on fire as the explosion raced through the asylum; the glass shout outward onto the balcony like small razor blades, and Joker forearms up to protect his eyes as he squeezed them shut and tried his best to turn away; but he felt the frigid slice of glass across his face, and arms, as he tried his best to shield himself, and then came the force of air.

It was powerful enough to rock the balcony precariously, throwing the Batman forward and on top of him. Their bodies connected with force, Batman's heavier form throwing Joker to the floor and knocking the wind out of him as Batman rolled off of him, landing on the ground next to him with a shout of surprise. His body instinctively curled in upon itself as he gasped for air, but he tried his best to unfold himself, as he clambered unsteadily to his knees. Again he looked over at Batman, catching out of the corner of his eye a man falling from the balcony, and again Batman's mouth was moving but he was hearing no sound from it as the ringing roared in his ears. He blinked away the unsteadiness in his vision, reaching out with his hands to grasp at the wall of the balcony, gripping the stone with his fingers and feeling the roughness dig into his fingertips.

"Joker!"

The sound flooded in almost instantaneously, and he winced, lifting his head to gaze with dazed eyes at Batman, who gripped at the balcony to pull himself to his feet, taking a quick glance behind him to look at Cash, who was clambering to his feet at the other end of the balcony. A sudden wave of unbelievable frustration at the situation came over him, curling and pooling into rage deep in his belly as he turned to Batman and snapped, "What?!"

Before Batman could respond, there was a sickening cracking, creaking, like sound, and the floor beneath their feet seemed to shift, and he watched it with an intensity, before his expression quickly morphed into one of dread. He shot his gaze back up to Batman, then back down to the floor, then back up again,

"It's gonna..." He didn't bother finishing his sentence.

The balcony lurched again, the crack in the floor made by the rotors of the chopper began widening, small cracks branching out from it to all corners of the balcony, and then for a second, everything was completely still. And then he felt something fall past his head, down into the bay. He looked up slowly, only to see pieces of the very asylum falling apart, down toward them.

Cash stumbled his way to their side of the balcony, looking downward toward the helicopter, hovering a few feet below the balcony as it regained it's balance, and he shouted, "Get out of here! Now!"

Joker shot Cash a dirty look at his words, and he opened his mouth to say something, but then suddenly...there was no floor.

He dropped like a stone.

He dropped the handcuffs from his free hand, reaching his arms above himself as he fell, until finally his hand caught on a jagged piece of the floor, still anchored to the side of the asylum. The forceful stop of his fall that his grip on the floor had caused wrenched his arms painfully, "Fuck!", he hissed as his body swung precariously. His left hand stayed anchored to the spot, as he dug his nails in to get a better hold, he could feel them pulling and thought that perhaps he'd rip them off completely. Something falling beside him caught his attention, as he attempted to reach up with his right arm to get a better grip, and just as his fingers were about to grip at the jagged edge of the floor, a sudden weight jarred him again, pulling his right arm away from the edge and pulling hard at his ankle, and he felt his shoulder pop as it was forcefully dislocated, and he howled in pain as he desperately tried to keep his grip.

He could feel it on his right ankle, and he twisted his head downward to see the what had caused him such pain. Aaron Cash was below him, good hand latched securely onto his ankle, a look of terror on his face at the horrible drop below them. Joker's face twisted in rage, and he kicked his ankle in an attempt to dislodge him.

"Get off!" He howled, lifting his free leg and placing his foot on Cash's hand as he tried to pry him away, "You'll kill us both! Let go of me!"

"Joker," Cash exclaimed, his grip on the white ankle tightening to a painful grip, the pain in Joker's left shoulder reaching an excruciating level, "Please! Please!" He pleaded, and a sour taste filled the Joker's mouth upon hearing the pathetic noise; he wrinkled his nose as he kicked his leg feebly, but stopped his movements when his hand slid away from further toward the edge.

"You're going to get us both killed!" Joker screeched his face twisted at the pain in his shoulder, and then he looked back up toward the balcony, and Batman's cowl appeared over the edge.

His voice was rough but almost frantic, as he laid himself down on the balcony, "Joker, hold on! Just reach for me!"

"With what!?" Was his furious response, as he tried his best to lift his right hand up to meet the Batman's gloved one. He got close, and he felt their fingers brush barely, before another explosion rocked them again. Batman turned to see what Joker's eyes had fixated on, as a large chunk of the upper floors of the asylum seemed to slide off from their base, plummeting downwards towards the bay.

"NO!" Batman hollered, as he watched the large chunk of building strike the helicopter as they attempted to fly away. One of the rotors was immediately bent horribly, and fell off the copter and into the bay. They would crash.

Joker refocused his attention onto the gloved hand above him, just barely in reach as he tried to crawl his fingers up into the awaiting hand, but then with a loud crack, his grip on the edge lost.

Batman watched in horror as the white hand dropped away from his as he desperately tried to reach further and grab a hold, but it was in vain. He watched as both of them plummeted.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Quentin Lance walked cautiously up the steps to the lobby of Wayne Tower. It was here that he had been notified as the hub of the relief efforts. The lobby was nothing but large glass windows and a large glass double door, railings leading up the steps and onto the landing. The building was incredibly large, and one could barely see the top even if you craned your neck back as far as it would go. The group of officers he had brought with him unloaded the van's and some followed him up the steps. A tall dark skinned man with graying hair opened the glass doors and walked out to meet him, and it was obvious that the smile on his face was strained.

"Hello, Mr. Lance." He wiped his hands on his pants for a moment before outstretching his right as an invitation for a handshake, "I'm Lucius Fox, CEO of Wayne Enterprises."

Quentin took the handshake tentatively, nodding as he replied, "Thank you.  
Although I apologize if I don't seem to chipper."

Mr. Fox's face fell a bit as he shook his head, stepping to the side and motioning for Lance to follow him into the building, "I wouldn't be either if I were you."

Quentin smiled a bit at the man's dry humor and responded, "This wasn't exactly how I imagined my first trip to Gotham."

Lucius smiled back at him, "Ha," he laughed dryly, "Well I can't express how sorry I am about that. I don't think this is anyone's idea of a perfect trip."

"Well, to be honest I never really wanted to come to Gotham." Quentin said honestly as they entered the lobby. Lucius was quick to reply.

"I can't really blame you for that, Mr. Lance. Not many do, and the ones who do, always want to leave."

His words hung in the air ominously for a for moments, as Quentin took in the scene around him. The lobby of Wayne Enterprises had been turned into a hub for the relief efforts, and many officers and medics and such had began stationing and setting up the room for intake and assistance. He turned to Mr. Fox who stood beside him with a small smile as he looked around at the work of the others, "Looks like you have things rolling pretty good."

"Yeah," Lucius admitted, "The only problem we faced was the lack of available officers. They were all occupied. And in a place like Gotham protection is top of the list I'm afraid."

"I see," Quentin observed, before motioning around himself and asking, "So were do we set up?"

Lucius took a moment to look around, and his eyebrows lowered as if he was deep in thought, but then just as suddenly, he turned with a smile and pointed to a corner of the room, "Go ahead and set up over there. If we need to move later than we'll go ahead and do that. How does that sound?"

Quentin nodded at him, "It sounds fine. Thank you."

Lucius turned to move away, when there was a strange sound. Quentin's head shot up from where his eyes were focused on the floor, and then suddenly one of his men came rushing in, out of breath and red in the face as he yelled, "Come quick! Something's happened!"

Quentin was out the door in the next second, followed by some officers of the GCPD and Lucius Fox himself, as they piled out into the street, looking out over the bay past a large building. There was a large cloud of smoke in the sky, and a strange glow coming from across the water. He lowered his eyebrows and squinted, trying to make sense of what it was he was looking at.

Lucius clarified, "Arkham Asylum."

"What's wrong with it?" Quentin asked, turning to Lucius who seemed to just stare off blankly. There was a long pause before he answered.

"It's gone."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Stomping feet entered the room along with some sarcastic voices. Felicity looked up from her computer to see Thea enter the room in a huff, tossing her bow onto a nearby table. Diggle and Laurel followed suit, although much less fitfully. Felicity sighed, and stood slowly to her feet, shaking her head as she asked, "What's the matter? What happened?"

Laurel glanced back at her for a moment, before going to talk to Thea. Instead, Diggle took the initiative and answered, "Something happened while we were out. Thea got attacked by a figure cloaked in black. Carried a sword and shit."

"The League..." Felicity whispered, bringing a hand up to her mouth in thought. "They're back?"

"I don't know," Diggle responded, turning his head to glance at Laurel and Thea, who were talking as Laurel calmed her down. "But whoever it was, they tried to kill us for interrupting their...I dunno what to call it. We caught them trying to execute a recently released former criminal."

Felicity shook her head, "Oh my god."

"Yeah. You're telling me." Diggle's voice was laced heavily with sarcasm.

She waited a moment before asking the question that was really on her mind, "Do you think..." she trailed off, losing her nerve for a moment before she continued, "Oliver..." She let it hang in the air, careful not to hope for anything. She had learned the hard way about that, having her heart crushed...

"Well," Felicity straightened her skirt as he tried her best to make her voice a little more steady, "I've got more news about Quentin and Gotham City. It's pretty bad. They just lost the asylum in an explosion...Took out most of the survivors and a helicopter."

"Oh shit," Diggle muttered, shaking his head. "What's next?"

"News from my Dad?" Laurel asked, suddenly taking high interest in the conversation as she left Thea's side and walked over to Felicity. "Please tell me he's okay."

"He's fine," Felicity reassured, "All he said was that there was a lot of stuff going down, and he wasn't sure if they could handle all of it."

It took nay a moment before Laurel spoke, "Then it's decided. We're heading to Gotham City. Right now."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Thea's voice rose in the room, finally adding herself to their discussion, "Who decided we're going anywhere? Do you even know anything about that place? I don't wanna go there."

"We're heroes. It's what we do." Laurel smiled, pleased with the case she had made. The was a heavy sigh from Diggle, before he stood from his stool and said, "She's right. If they need help, we should be there."

"Whatever," Thea mumbled under her breath.

"I'll go get the car." Felicity chimed, sighing and hoping that this trip wasn't like the last couple.

It didn't take them too long to get back outside, and the door's to Palmer Industries opened as they emerged. But the sight before them was baffling.

A line of people, all former criminals, blocked their path from the building. They were all tied at the wrists and blindfolded, and each one held a large red letter painted on their clothing.

"Leave Now." Felicity read aloud.

"This don't look good," Diggle stated, as he approached the men slowly. In nearly a second, a ticking sound emerged and suddenly there was nothing. The men were gone, replaced instead by a grisly scene of gore and blood.

"Oh my God!" Felicity screamed, lowering the arm she had used to shield her face.

"Someone obviously doesn't want us here." Thea stated, "All the more reason to stay."

"No," Laurel argued, "All the more reason to leave."

Felicity just shook her head, trying to calm the flipping of her stomach. She gagged for a moment, and just for a second she thought she might throw up right there on the pavement, but instead she swallowed it back down, turning to Diggle as she said, "Call it in. I'm going to get the car." And scurried off as fast as her legs would carry her.

The trio simply stood there paralyzed with shock. Diggle was the first to move, reaching down into his pocket and pulling out his cell phone. "This is some fucked up shit right here." He shook his head as he dialed 911. Laurel and Thea simply nodded in acknowledgment, staring blankly ahead almost in shock.

"This is sick," Laurel said, turning away abruptly as she moved to steady herself against the wall, looking away from the gore and leaning over. Thea glanced over her shoulder at her friend, before turning back around to the grisly scene before them. She could hear the gagging noises of Laurel vomiting on the ground behind her, but she ignored them. She swallowed with difficulty, enthralled and unable to remove her eyes from the scene before her. She wondered how someone could just be, and then not be, in such a short time. They were there...but now they weren't. They were nothing more than pieces of grit and gore splattered on the stained sidewalk. She wondered if they were still conscious, just briefly, before she realized that death must have been almost instantaneous. What startled her the most though was that her stomach never once had flipped; she had not gotten sick, or nauseous, had not looked away, had not even shielded her face. She was aware that she had something on her face, but was reluctant to wipe it away. She did so anyway, careful not to stain her jacket in doing so. She reached up tentatively, wiping with the tips of her fingers at the wet spots on her forehead and cheek; and when they came back into her view, they were red. Diggle's voice sounded in the background, as he talked to the police, describing the incident as an anonymous tipper. She rolled her eyes, finally ripping herself away from the scene. For a moment she felt a hint of something akin to fear; not of the situation, but of herself. Ever since...death had been a constant fascination. Almost an increasing obsession. But she refused to believe she was sick. She wasn't.

When Felicity pulled up with the car, everyone piled in wordlessly and quickly, getting away from the scene just before the police arrived. They didn't want to be connected to the events in any way. They had somewhere to be. Being detained wasn't something that they'd want right now.

Thea sat in the back seat with Laurel, Diggle sitting beside Felicity as they headed for the highway. They sat in silence for a long time, before she finally asked upon seeing a sign for Gotham City, "How do we expect to get into the city if they've stopped all incoming and outgoing traffic?"

"She's right," Diggle agreed, gazing out the passenger side window, "They did say that they had stopped all incoming and outgoing traffic. The exit's are blocked."

Felicity considered this, before glancing back at Laurel for a second, "You think you could help us out with that? Get a clear of your dad or something?"

"Yeah...Yeah I'll see what I can do." She pulled her phone from her pocket, scrolling through to find her father's number. It was then that Diggle reached forward, flipping on the radio. The ends of some recent song played of the speakers, before a familiar reporter's voice aired over the end.

" _-a man calling himself the Black Arrow."_

"Wait!" Felicity called, "Turned that up!"

Diggle reached up, turning the knob to increase the volume as the reporter continued, _"They have sent a city wide broadcast that the SCPD is considering a terrorism threat to the city. The man stated to have a large group or militia that he intended to bring into Star City within the next few hours; calling themselves the 'League of Shadows'. Star City Police Department has since doubled citywide terrorism protocols and everyone within the city is instructed to stay calm and remain indoors."_

"Shit!" Felicity cried out, beating a hand against the steering wheel, "I knew it!"

"We have to go back to the city," Diggle exclaimed, sitting forward slightly in his seat, "My family!"

"We can't turn around now, Diggle." Felicity stated, watching the speedometer, "I'm sure they'll be fine, we'll head back as soon as we can. I promise."

Diggle turned to look at her, an intensity burning behind his brown eyes, "They better be. And he better not touch my family again..." The threat hung in the air as they took the Gotham exit.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

The fire at his back was warm, heating the room nicely and giving it the homey glow that he absolutely adored. It reminded him of when he was a child, and sweet memories of childhood and his mother flooded his mind with nostalgia. But he simply shook it away with a smile on his face, reaching forward to grasp the cup that sat in front of him at the large table, swirling around the liquid inside before taking a small sip, letting it soak into his tongue as he swished it around in his mouth, the exquisite taste of it sinking in.

His eyes shifted over towards the door at the far end of the hall, as Butch walked in, looking rather worse for wear and a little haggard, a slightly worried expression on his face as he approached, wringing his hands nervously. He stopped a few feet from the chair, swallowing with difficulty as he opened his mouth and spoke, "Uh," he cleared his throat nervously, "Boss, we got a problem."

Butch's nervous demeanor was slowly grating on Penguin's nerves as he sat up in his chair, leaning his elbows against the table, a smile stretching across his face as he said, "You know Butch," he tilted his head down towards the meal in front of him, home cooked lasagna, "this meal taste just like the stuff my mother used to make."

Butch smiled at him, still wringing his hands as he shifted his balance to the other foot and nodded in agreement. Penguin continued, reaching out and gingerly lifting the glass of wine from in front of him, the red liquid almost empty, "And the wine," he looked up at the ceiling for a quick moment before looking back at Butch, "Was an excellent touch. I'm honestly quite glad that we opted for this one." Butch watched his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed another sip of wine, before gingerly putting the glass down on the table.

He then turned to Butch with a humorous smile, "Honestly I almost rethought buying it; I thought maybe it wouldn't be too my liking but," He paused, locking eyes with Butch, "I'm you talked me into it Butch."

Butch laughed nervously, bringing up a hand to scratch idly at his head as he stumbled on his words, "Yeah, I'm glad you like it; I thought you would."

Penguin smiled wider at this, laughing dryly, "Ah, you do know me, don't you Butch?" The question was more of a statement than a question, so Butch assumed it was to be left unanswered as he struggled to find a way to word what he was trying to say. Penguin had long since noticed Butch's odd behavior; it was hard to miss the moment he walked in through the door. So he had offered idle conversation to make him more comfortable, but now was the end of it. He sat his fork down gingerly on the empty plate, wiping his mouth delicately with an ornate napkin, folding it and placing it also onto the table. He then leaned back in his chair, refocusing his eyes on Butch as he asked, "So? I understand there was something you needed to bring to my attention?"

Butch nodded vigorously, heart thumping in his chest as he stuttered, "There's be-been some t-t-terrorist attacks something like that throughout the city. P-People are lock-locking down and stuff shutting off the highway access."

Penguin stared at him blankly for a long time, before pushing his chair backwards slowly, and rising to his feet. Butch took a tentative step away from the table. Penguin limped his way over to him until they were only about a foot and a half away. His face was blank and Butch wished it wasn't so he could prepare for whatever was coming his way. But instead Penguin spoke with a voice that was friendly, almost overly so.

"Butch, I know you don't have a lot of time to sit around, considering I'm always working you so hard," he smiled charmingly, "But..."He sighed loudly, "I have a television. Radio. Informants."

"I-I-I" Butch struggled to put together a coherent sentence, but Penguin interrupted him.

"I'm less concerned with you telling me something I'm already aware of, and more concerned," his voice had lowered dangerously, and now it rose to a high pitched quality that made Butch want to cover his ears and wince, "with why you are bringing this to my attention so late!"

"I'm sorry boss," Butch stammered, taking a few more steps away as he cowered, "I was busy! I swear! I was just doing what you told me!"

"I know," Penguin's voice was back to the way it had been earlier, friendly and inviting, "It's alright. I've already talked to some others. Lock down our territory. Bring everything we have to offer to the warehouse. All of our products."

"Yes sir," Butch nodded, and almost saluted but rethought it when he realized that his boss might take offense. So instead he just nodded and smiled as he hurried out the door as fast as his legs would carry him. Penguin just stood there, leaning against the large wooden table, heaving a sigh. Sometimes he wondered about that man. And there were times when he wondered why on earth he still kept him around. And others still that he was glad to have Butch with him.

The phone ringing on the table next to him ripped him away from his thoughts however, as he reached over and grabbed the receiver, raising it to his ear as he answered, "Hello?"

There was a long pause at the other end, and for a moment he almost hung up ,k but then the voice answered hushed, quick, and almost muffled, "I have a prospect for you, Mr. Cobblepot."

"How do you-"

"You're a very important man in Gotham. We like important men, and we want what you have."

Penguin gripped the receiver a little tighter, eyebrows drawn together and face twitching nervously, "What do you want?"

"Relax. All you need to do is prepare for a client. We'll bring money."

Penguin thought about it for a long time, before he finally settled on an answer. "Alright then. I assume, since you know so much about me already, where my warehouse is located? That's where the stock is. You want a deal? We'll meet there at...I dunno, let's say..." he glanced at the watch on his wrist. It was eight p.m. He thought about if for awhile, before he sighed and said, "Midnight?"

"Perfect."

The line went dead.


	3. Dark Waters

My newly christened fiance ShadowDragon3221 has requested that I dedicate this chapter to the victims of the recent ISIS terrorist attack in France. Our thoughts and prayers reach out to each and every one of them. Please take a moment of silence before reading this chapter in memory of the victims of this horrible crime.

Thank you, Macaronisofa.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

A rap on the door.

Lyla unfolded herself from the recliner that had held her snugly, setting her book down on the coffee table as quietly as she could with a heavy sigh as she stood, stretching the tiredness from her limbs and yawned with a hand clasped over her mouth as she padded in her bare feet toward the door. She tried her best to keep quiet and hoped the visitor would not knock on the door again. She had just put Sara to sleep and did not want to wake her. She had spent the entire, better part of the morning trying to calm the crying, colicky child, and frankly, she was tired.

She reached out with her hand as she grasped the cool doorknob, unlocking the door with her free hand and twisting the knob as she opened the door. She prepared a smile as she said in a cheery voice, "Hello?"

Before she could catch a glimpse of her visitor, the door was forced open roughly by a strong hand as a large man clad in black pushed past her, grasping her firmly by the arm and hauling her inside, clamping a hand over her mouth to cut off her scream while another hooded figure closed the door behind the first. " _Hey_!" Lyla exclaimed, twisting her arm in an attempt to break free from the strange man's hold, "Who _are_ you! Let _go_ of me!"

The black clad figure with the grip on her arm turned to her, his face cloaked in black shadows from the hood he was wearing, his voice, not unkind and a little familiar said to her, "Calm down, Lyla. We are not here to harm you."

She felt like screaming as she exclaimed, wrenching her arm from his grip and stumbling backwards into a painting that hung on the wall behind her, "Get out of here! What do you want from me!?"

A noise from behind her caught her attention however, as she twisted around to see the new offender. A third black hooded figure stood behind her, and she jumped at the sight of him tripping over her own feet, his footsteps subtle and silent; but her attention was not drawn to him, but what he held in his arms. Her baby, Sara, was held securely in the man's arms, sleeping soundly with what looked like a smile on her face as she sucked on her small little thumb. Lyla's face paled, her brown eyes widening to an impossible size as she opened her mouth, stuttering, choking on her words as she hissed, "Put her _down_! Don't you _dare_ hurt my baby! Give her back _now_!"

" _Please_ ," The first man asked, placing a hand on Lyla's shoulder, before reaching up and pulling down his hood, revealing a familiar face, "Calm down Lyla."

There was a few moments of stunned silence before she whispered, " _Malcolm_?"

"Hello Lyla."

"What do you want? What are you doing here?" Her voice shook and quivered, tears pricking in her eyes as her heart pounded in fear. Malcolm's voice was calm as he responded, "We're here to help you. John left the city for Gotham. It's not safe here. We were sent here to bring you somewhere safe."

"But..." Her voice trailed off as turned to the man holding her baby, who had also lowered his hood. " _Oliver_...?"

He smiled as he locked gazes with Malcolm, "Take them to Purgatory."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

He was quick to retreat to the Batwing, as he sat in it now, circling above the disturbed waters of Gotham's bay, crashing against the jutting rocks, as the last remnants of the side of Arkham Asylum fell into the foaming brine. The helicopter had disappeared mere moments ago, and he had watched it sinking down into the dark, freezing depths of the water, taking with it the police officers and the few orderlies who had made it into the chopper with the false promise and empty hope of rescue. The familiar sting of loss of life and his failure to protect came with it. But that was alright. He had become very familiar with it now, like an old friend. He scanned the waters in search of any signs of life. Most of the balcony had collapsed after the first two explosions, taking with it whatever survivors had remained standing on it; along with...Aaron Cash and the Joker. There was no visible movement in the water, and frustrated, he reached forward and flipped a switch on the console in front of him with a little too much force. Almost instantaneously, the view from the windows of the Batwing switched to an infrared sensor, distorting everything into a mixture of dark bluish hues. He searched the water once more as he circled above, looking for any heat signatures that might be visible from his height. But again, he saw _nothing_.

It would have been near impossible to survive a fall of that height without hitting the jagged, pointing rocks jutting up out of the water at the bottom of the cliff face and he declined to think about those who had. Plus many of the fallers had been sliced by the rotors of the crashing helicopter, falling into them on their descent down; Batman knew that if it were daylight, the waters would no doubt be running red. The possibility of survival was slim. He grimaced as he switched off the sensor, and turned the Batwing around toward Wayne Tower. Cash's loss cut him deeply; they had been good friends for a long time. Cash had been around from the beginning, and Batman felt his loss. He had been a valuable asset and a close friend. He declined to think of it now as the Batwing lowered onto the helipad that rested atop Wayne Tower, refusing to even _acknowledge_ Joker's loss. For now, he needed to get inside the building and monitor the set up of the relief efforts. He switched off the Batwing with the press of a button, before raising his gauntlet up to his face and pressing a few buttons hidden in a panel under the Kevlar, dialing Jim's number.

The ringing continued for a few long, anxiety filled moments, before a frazzled, " _Hello_?"

"Jim." His voice was flat.

"Batman," came the knowing reply, as Jim's voice took a more frantic turn, "what happened up there? The _balcony_..." His voice was desperate as Batman listened as Jim inhaled heavily, and his tone took a solemn and silent turn, "I failed..."

"Don't blame yourself, Jim. You tried your best to save them."

There was a long stretch of silence before Jim asked, "What about the Joker? Did you manage to grab him?"

Batman inhaled deeply before he answered gruffly, "No. He fell off the balcony along with Cash when the chopper went down into the bay."

" _Christ_." Jim sighed on the other end of the phone, " _Jesus_ ," his voice sounded tired, before he offered an exhausted, "Alright. I've got to wrap this up. We're transferring the surviving patients to Wayne Tower. We'll be there soon."

"I'm locking down the thirteenth floor. I'll be ready for you."

He disconnected the call, lowering his arm as the door to the Batwing opened with a mechanical hiss and he threw himself out of it, landing heavily on his boots. The concrete rooftop was still slightly damp from the earlier rainfall, small puddles scattered about in small imperfections in the concrete, and the soles of his boots squelched as he walked toward the stairwell door. He opened it with ease, wincing as it screeched closed behind him, bathing him in familiar and comforting darkness. Anger and frustration were flooding through him, forcing him ever forwards as he leaped over the railing, reaching down to his belt and grabbing his grapple with a steady hand, pulling the trigger and watching as it shot out and gripped the ceiling with it's metal claws, digging in to the concrete ever so slightly, slowing his fall as he plummeted all the way down to the lobby floor. He landed heavily, his cape billowing around him and throwing dust about the landing, the fall echoing in the empty stairway like rolling thunder as he opened the door and stepped inside. The hallway that led to the lobby from the stairwell was bright, a sharp contrast to the darkened stairwell and deserted, utterly empty as he walked along the tile flooring, his boots making noise as he walked briskly onward. The lights overhead gleamed off the floor, and it all blended together perfectly to create the almost optimal, fake professional environment; all state of the art construction and decor. As he turned the corner and entered the main lobby, the noise hit him in the face like a wind. The lobby was bustling, officers and nurses and everyone essential to relief efforts running and shouting and trying their best to organize what was going on around them. The room quieted however, much to his liking, when he fully entered the room, almost like an omen had washed over them. He felt the eyes of everyone in the room burning into him, but he ignored them as he straightened his back and his blue eyes searched for the man he was looking for.

It didn't take long however, for Lucius to notice him. He walked over in a hurry, feet shuffling, a small but genuine smile on his wrinkled face as he approached, voice warm and comforting as it always was, " _Batman_! I'm so glad to know you've made it away from the asylum in one piece."

"Barely."

"Well, barely is better than not at all, _Mr. Batman_." Lucius winked at him with a smile, before turning his head to look around the room, "Welcome to the hub of the Gotham City relief efforts." Fox pointed to their right, "Over there the GCPD is getting everything together," he pointed to the far right corner, by the glass front doors, "food, water, supplies, and Disaster Relief On-Site Packages, all over there." With a huff he turned to their left, pointing to the far left corner, "Medical, _aaaand_ ," he paused for a moment as he gestured to their immediate left, "the helpers from the SCPD that arrived while you were at the asylum." Lucius then leaned up on his toes to whisper to Batman near his covered ear, "And some _unexpected_ help arrived about a half hour ago. Strange bunch if I do say so myself, but...probably some people you'll want to meet."

"Thanks, Lucius."

"You're very welcome. All these people are just waiting to be told what floors to set up on. They're all piled here in the lobby unprotected and with no room. I'm pretty sure they're going stir crazy; wouldn't want any fights to break out."

Batman responded swiftly, "I'll take care of it. Thanks again for everything you're doing. You don't have too, and I appreciate it."

Lucius smiled wider at this, nodding at him as he turned away breaking their eye contact, "Always. If there's anything I can do, you bet I'll be there." He winked once more as he walked away to do the rest of his duties of keeping a semblance of order.

Batman turned left as Lucius had mentioned, heading towards the corner where the new arrivals from the SCPD were piled, many sitting on crates of supplies or on the floor, a few jibber-jabbering to each other as they leaned against the wall, and a group of oddly dressed individuals talking to an older fellow. Batman did not recognize any of them, and they all quieted as he approached, stunned into silence at the sight of Gotham's most infamous vigilante. He stopped a few feet away from them, looking over the group as he asked in a deep and scratchy tone, "Which one of you is Quentin Lance?"

The group was quiet for a few long moments, looking between one another, before the older man he had spotted earlier walked up sheepishly and an extended a hand, "That'd be me. I'm Captain Quentin Lance of the SCPD. Nice to finally...meet you."

Batman glanced down at his hand before finally deciding to accept the offer for a handshake, grasping the man's hand with a firm grip and shaking, before dropping his own back down to his side as Quentin withdrew his rather slowly, looking a little out of place and rubbing the hand idly. Quentin continued, eyes darting around the room nervously, "We received a distress call from your Commissioner not too long ago. Responded as quickly as we could with our best officers." He smiled as he tried an attempt at humor, "I gotta tell you though, this wasn't the way I expected to see Gotham for the first time."

Batman's face remained motionless and quieted, and Quentin shifted uncomfortably as the Batman responded, "Well it can get a lot worse."

"Uh, _yeah_..."His voice trailed off as the vigilante turned his head towards the group of oddly dressed individual's as they approached him. Quentin perked up at their arrival as he motioned from them to the Batman, "I'd also like to introduce you to Star City's own group of... _vigilantes._ " Batman took notice of how Quentin almost spit the word, like it left a sour taste in his mouth as he introduced them, "Black Canary, Red Arrow, Diggle, and...Felicity."

"I see," was Batman's stony reply.

Felicity smiled back at him with a small blush on her cheeks, "Yeah, I'm like...their dispatcher slash information slash...you know...whatever." Subtly Felicity jabbed Diggle in the ribs with her elbow as she hissed in his ear, "I told you I needed a code name!"

" _Ow_! How is that _my_ problem?"

Batman simply stared at them for a moment, before shaking his head and turning back to Lance, "Commissioner Gordon is bringing in a few secure van fulls of patients from Arkham Asylum."

"Arkham Asylum?" Felicity piped up, eyes blown wide, "You mean like, _the_ Arkham Asylum?"

"Yes," Batman said in a monotonous voice, " _The_ Arkham Asylum."

Felicity's face paled noticeably as she stuttered, "You're bringing the-the patients _here_?"

" _Yes_." Batman drawled, looking from her to the others and then back at Quentin Lance. "Why don't you take you're team and start getting set up on the tenth floor. Mr. Fox has already had it cleared out and arranged so you can make the best possible use of it. The GCPD will be setting up there as well. It shouldn't be hard to split the room in two or to set up together. It's where I want the hub of all the police force."

"So wait a minute," Diggle spoke up, drawing surprise from his friends as he had been quiet thus far, "You're running the show then? A vigilante is basically orchestrating everything that's going on right now?"

Batman simply stared back at him with a blank expression, eyes slightly narrowed as he answered with a tone harder than before, if that were even possible, "Do you have a problem with that?" It came as more of a challenge than he had initially intended.

Diggle simply eyed him back, eyebrows lowered, unafraid, gauging his response carefully before he swallowed his pride and answered with a forced, "No. I _don't_."

"Good." Batman then turned back to Lance, who fidgeted from foot to foot nervously, wringing his hands, and continued his explanation, "We're making the fifteenth floor the medical wing for now. All of our medical technicians and doctors will be stationed and setting up up there. And the thirteenth...Well..."

"Well what?" Quentin asked, swallowing the growing lump in his throat noticeably.

"That's where we'll be keeping the patients. I've been having an associate set up for me since I left for the asylum a few hours ago." He then turned and headed for the front door, calling over his shoulder, "I'll brief you further once the patients arrive."

" _Hey_! Hold on!" Thea lurched forward, taking a few long steps to put herself in front of the larger man to block his path, hands on her hips, "We're vigilantes! Just like you. We want to help. Quentin here is important to Black Canary. Just give us something to do. Tell us what to do. We can handle _anything_." Her eyebrows were lowered, her lips pursed in a determined expression, forehead wrinkled. Batman stopped his movements, and stared down at her in silence for a few long moments before he inhaled deeply, and then exhaled with an exasperated sigh.

"No," He began, his voice cold and hard, "You can't."

Thea's face morphed immediately into a mask of confusion and offense, eyebrows lowered and nose scrunched, lips pulled back in a disgusted expression as she asked in a tone none to kind, "What do you mean, ' _no we can't_ '?"

The Batman simply looked back at her, before looking away for a moment as if something was taking up his attention, further grating her nerves as he turned to her and answered, "I meant what I said. _No_ , you _can't_ ," he repeated, his mouth forming a tight line, "You haven't even been in Gotham more than an _hour_. You have no idea what goes on here or how this city operates. And you have no idea what you're dealing with just by _being_ here."

The rage was rising in Thea's chest quickly, as she took a step toward the tall vigilante clad in black, face scrunched in anger as she retorted, "That's _not_ true! You don't know anything about us! We're vigilante's too, just like you! And I happen to think we do just as good as you do in _our_ city!"

Batman looked down at her as she defended herself, wishing that she would lower her voice, the sound and volume grating in his ears and annoying him as he took another deep breath and sighed, as he hardened his gaze and answered her, "You're wrong. I do know you; all of you, in fact." He gestured towards her, " _You_ are Thea Queen, half sister of Oliver Queen and daughter of Malcolm Merlin, who is currently operating with the league of shadows." He leaned down closer to her and whispered in her ear so that only she and the others could hear, "And I am very much aware of your experience with the _Lazarus_ _Pit_."

Thea's eyes widened in surprise and she gasped, mouth agape, before clasping a hand to her mouth at the involuntary noise that escaped her as she looked at him with wide eyes. He ignored this and continued, turning to Diggle with a nod, "And _you,_ are John Diggle. Previous Army Special Forces. You were assigned to Oliver Queen as a body guard and that is how your connection with Team Arrow was formed. You also have a wife named Lyla and a daughter named Sara, who takes her names sake from Sara Lance, the original Black Canary, living in Star City, and," He stated, eying Laurel and taking a breath, "You're late sister. Whom you've replaced and taken up the mantle as the new Black Canary, and Quentin here is your father and Captain of the SCPD." Then after a momentary pause, Batman turned to Felicity, giving her a knowing look before he said in a softer tone, "And you are Felicity Smoak, new CEO of Palmer Industries, and 'the Informant'."

The small group had been stunned into silence, Thea taking a few steps back and falling in with her comrades, her rage and dislike of this man suffocating her but her shock at what he had said held her lips shut as she settled in next to Laurel, who put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Batman then turned back to Thea, who did not meet his eyes but instead stared at the bat symbol emblazoned on his chest with intent, "Star City is Metropolis, compared to where you are right now. You're in Gotham. Everything is different, including the criminals you're up against. You've only come close to catching a _glimpse_ of the demented minds that are resident here. And you are badly informed."

"Then _inform_ us," Felicity requested, taking a few steps forward with a serious look and pleading eyes as she brushed a few strands of stray hair from her eye, "We want to help. It's why we're here. So tell us what we're up against. Give us the low-down on Gotham. And maybe, we might be able to be a little better at what we do when we get back home."

"You _should_ go home, it's dangerous and I work alone," Batman began, earning a slightly hurt look from Felicity, before he sighed, defeated, "But I'll give you a chance. You listen to me. The minute you don't is the minute you _all_ leave my city. You understand?"

He received nods from the team, and begrudgingly, he said, "Meet me on the seventeenth floor. It's an office. The only one on that floor. I'll give you a once over once you're there."

"Yes sir," Felicity saluted, attempting humor, but when she received an awkward silence in return she simply laughed it off, rubbing her head as she motioned for the others to follow and headed for the elevator, her heels clicking on the floor as she walkd. Thea waited until the elevator doors had closed in front of them before she sighed exasperatedly, leaning back against the elevator wall and whining, "I really _hate_ that guy."

" _Thea_ ," Laurel admonished, "That's not very nice. He's just trying to keep us alive."

"He doesn't have to be a dick about it," Thea drawled in her defense, rolling her eyes, crossing her feet at the ankles, and shoving her hands in her jacket pockets, mindful of the bow strapped to her back, "I'm just saying he could have been a lot more polite about it. That's all. He seems like a show off. Or Full of himself. Or both. Personally, I don't like him."

"What I want to know is how he knew so much about us," Diggle stated, shifting his weight anxiously as he looked up at the floor numbers they were passing, "He has to have connections somewhere or something. I've never seen him in Star City before. And I'm sorry to say," he swallowed and locked eyes with Felicity, "if that's a professional vigilante, we're sorely lacking."

"You're probably right," Felicity agreed solemnly, "He does sound like he has connections. Man does his research. He's a professional guys, and he does his, I dunno, _vigilante_ - _ing_ on his own. That's saying something. I mean, I've heard stories about this guy, and just seeing him up close is-"

"Yeah, yeah, don't _fawn_ over him." Laurel rolled her eyes as the elevator slowed to a stop and the doors opened with a mechanical hiss as Felicity retorted with a blush, "I'm not _fawning_!"

"Let's just get this over with." Diggle's voice was strung tightly as he continued, "The faster we do this the faster I can get home to my family." He exited the elevator first, taking a long look around the room, voice carrying through the empty floor like a phantom on the wind. Felicity approached him, squeezing his hand gently with a smile as she reassured, "They'll be fine, I promise."

"I hope so Felicity...I really do."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

His shoes squelched on the damp concrete as he shut the door of his patrol car with a little more force than necessary, turning his head to watch as the security vans full of transported patients pulled up behind him, lining the road like a traffic jam. He wished that they could be more organized, but he knew it was a futile hope. Jim didn't really want to walk through those double doors and face the relief efforts that were beginning inside. Not after his epic failure on the grounds of Arkham Asylum. He knew that there would be someone from the GCPD visiting three homes tonight. And it wrenched the heart that sat in his chest painfully, and filled his blood with a boiling rage that made him want to destroy everything around him and scream and rip his hair out. But instead he swallowed it's bitter taste back down, blinking several time as he walked the steps toward the large double doors, the voices behind him a drone in the background, white noise. He turned briefly around to spot Bullock, still sour with him over their disagreement at the asylum, leaning against a patrol car and bull shitting with an Arkham Guard. Jim guessed that Bullock would not be coming in with him immediately. He sighed and shook his head and thought so much for partnership. Bullock was never any good at it anyway.

When he swung the doors open the first thing that hit him was the sterile smell of a doctor's office combined with the smell of tons of bodies packed together in a space that wasn't _quite_ big enough for all of them. The noise was the second thing to hit him, voices piled on voiced upon voices, and it grated his brain and caused his headache to worsen, sending shooting pains back behind his eyeballs as he advanced through the doors, searching for a familiar face. It didn't take long however, as the familiar face locked on and approached him swiftly.

The Batman's armor clad form walked toward him at a brisk pace, and he nodded as he approached and slowed to a stop a few feet away. "Jim."

"Batman," He replied, trying his best to hide the dead like tone in his voice as he rubbed his face with a hand. Batman skipped the introductions, having already picked up the tone in Jim's voice as he asked in a way that he hoped did not sound to rough, "Are the patients ready?"

Jim simply nodded stepping sideways and motioning out toward the streets, "They're all strapped to transporters or handcuffed. The surviving guards and officers are about to bring them in. Is the thirteenth floor ready for them? I mean, we'll need holding cells and medical attention _and_ -"

"Calm down Jim." Batman reached out a hand and laid it on the Commissioner's shoulders squeezing gently, softening the look in his eyes and saying in a quieter tone, "It wasn't your fault Jim. You tried your best." He then nodded, gazing at the ceiling for half a second before stating, "Don't beat yourself up over it." He went to turn away, before something caught his attention and he turned back, "I've also got a little group of rag tag amateur vigilantes from Star City. I wanted to make you aware in case they make any movements tonight. You can consider them working with me." It was more of a statement than a question and Jim simply accepted in, nodding, too exhausted to question or disagree, and watching as the Batman turned and headed towards the elevators.

He was so tired, and all he wanted to do was go home, and curl up and go to sleep, but instead he simply turned around, back the way he had come, and headed out the doors to start moving in the crazies.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

The office on the fifteenth floor was large. Incredibly large in fact, and Felicity assumed it was meant for the CEO or owner of the company to reside in. Bruce Wayne if she remembered correctly. Everything was top of the line Wayne Tech, and she resisted the urge to touch everything in the room. The others watched from there standing positions in the center of the room as Felicity flitted about here and there, nearly dropping dead when she finally encountered the computer. "Wow, guys, look at this! It's completely _new_ , highest quality technology _right_ here," She called, putting her face close to the screen and reaching out a finger to touch the keyboard.

"Please don't touch anything."

The voice scared her and she let out a squeal, stumbling back away from the desk and computer, almost knocking over an office chair, chest heaving as she sputtered, "Sorry! I'm sorry, I just... _oh_ my gosh, you do sneak up on people don't you?" She giggled nervously, breathing a little haggard.

The Batman simply ignored this, walking over to the computer and occupying Felicity's previous position, bending over a pressing a few simple keys as Felicity moved closer, gazing over his shoulder. The Batman however, stopped typing suddenly, turning his head slowly towards Felicity, and she froze in the spot, eyes wide, before she laughed again and back off, muttering, "Sorry, sorry. Space, I know."

After she had backed off considerably, a quick retina scan unlocked the hidden potential within the room. A large projection lit up the room, resembling a large computer with a bat symbol in the center as it said in a computerized female voice, "User recognized."

"Please stand to the side." Batman ordered, as the group shuffled off to the side of the room as the lights dimmed, making it easier to see the holo-projections in the center of the room, awed at the computer. "This is the Bat-Computer. It's holds data on everything that goes on in Gotham and the surrounding areas."

"Whoa," Felicity breathed, awestruck, "What I wouldn't give to get one of _these_."

"Okay, calm down over there computer nerd." Thea laughed, earning a roll of the eyes from Felicity, who was still focused on the projection images of the computer the Batman was stationed behind, his hands buzzing over the keys and moving the mouse around as he clicked and changed things.

It wasn't long before he spoke again, his voice the same monotone as it had been from the moment they had been introduced, and Felicity wondered if he sounded this way all the time, "As of right now, we have several criminals unaccounted for in Gotham City. They need to be apprehended, and that is on our to-do list for tonight. The first," with a click of the mouse, a face appeared on the projection. Felicity studied it, adjusting her glasses. The photo was of a strange looking young man who seemed to be leaning a little bit to far to one side, dark circles lining under his dark eyes, angular face framed by a shock of black hair arranged in a terrible haircut. "The Penguin," Batman began, "Oswald Cobblepot." With another click, a second face appeared, "This is Butch. His right hand man. The Penguin controls most of what's left of the Fish Mooney and Falcone's operations. Not a dime exchanged hands in this city without him knowing about it."

"What's his threat level?" Diggle asked, stepping forward a bit to get a better look at the profiles. Batman glanced at him, before answering, "On a scale of one to ten? Eight." He paused for a moment before he added, "He doesn't like to get his hands dirty, though. So he's more likely to try and bargain with you. Or send someone else after you." Diggle nodded in understanding, hands held securely behind his back as he watched intently. With another click, another face lit up the screen. Diggle cringed. This profile was worse than the last. A shock of brown hair, blue eyes, and a strong jaw, all offset by a horrible disfigurement on the one side of the man's face, almost akin to a burn.

"This is Harvey Dent, otherwise known as Two-Face. He was Gotham's District Attorney for a time before the accident that caused his current disfigurement. He's obsessed with fairness and flips a coin to decide his victim's fate. Two distinctly different personalities."

"Dude looks pretty screwed up," Diggle said aloud, "I'm guessing his threat levels somewhere around a _six_? Seven tops?"

Batman raised an eyebrow, before hiding a small smile behind the computer, "Exactly." He paused for a moment, eying Diggle, before he muttered, "Nice work."

"Thank you." Diggle smiled, a little too smug, and he opened his mouth to continue speaking, but the Batman cut him off, tone now overly serious as he eyed them all and spoke.

"The one I'm about to show you next is...our biggest threat." The image switched quickly, and elicited gasps from all but Thea, who's eyes stayed transfixed to the smiling face on the screen. The face was a sickly white, like chalk, with the pallor of a dead man, green hair arranged in a striking fashion adorned the head, caustic, almost poisonous looking green eyes stared out from behind black rimmed sockets. But that is not what was most striking about the face. The features were pulled back into a grotesque mockery of a smile, skin pulled taut and blood red lips stretched across the face; malevolence, malice...the eyes stared upwards...and the smile...Thea swallowed with a little difficulty, unable to remove her eyes from the profile as she said in a voice almost a whisper, "And what is... _who_ is...that?"

Batman took a long moment to respond, but when he did his voice was cold as ice, "The Joker." That was all that was needed.

"The Joker? I've read about him in the papers!" Felicity commented, averting her eyes from the screen as she commented, "Even the pictures give you the chills."

"So what is this guy? A seven? Eight? Maybe a nine? Looks like a circus freak to me." Diggle scoffed, turning to look at Batman, who's eyes were now boring into him with an intensity that caught him off guard.

"That will get you killed."

"What?" Diggle asked in confusion.

"A thirteen. That's the closest number that I can describe him with. Raging psychosis...but high functioning. He's the cause of most of the trouble you hear about in Gotham. An accident at Ace Chemicals caused his disfigurement. He's been the Joker ever since."

"Wait so," Thea began, face scrunched in thought, and then disgust, "So that's his _actual_ , face?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

The room was deathly silent for a long moment, before Batman commented as the screens went down and the lights returned to their previous intensity, "I lost him after he fell of the balcony at Arkham Asylum."

"What do you mean, you lost him?" Diggle asked, walking to the center of the room with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"I don't know whether his is alive or not. He fell from the balcony after an explosion. So we can't count him out of this equation."

Diggle shook his head, "Well...we better get started quick then.

Batman began to respond, when a beep from the communication device in his ear alerted him to Alfred's voice as it streamed into his eardrum, "Sir?" Batman held up a hand to them as an indicator, as a hand raised to his ear and he asked, "Alfred? What is it?"

"I've got some information on them that you requested sir."

"Go on," Batman urged, turning away from the group and facing out the window behind the desk. He heard some typing on Alfred's end before the older man responded, "You were correct sir. The League is moving in on Star City as we speak. There was a mass broadcast meant as a warning to the citizens."

"I see...and Ra's?"

"Exactly who you suspected sir."

Silence. Batman was silent for a few more moments, before he spoke once more, "So they were all involved in Ra's undoing, then?" His voice held a bit of sentiment, but he quickly pushed it aside as Alfred responded, "Yes sir." Alfred paused for a moment as if he was finished speaking, but then piped as he he said in a tone a lot quieter than before, "And John Diggle, sir..."

"What is it Alfred?"

"His family was abducted by unknown persons earlier in the day, sir."

"Alright, thanks Alfred. I'll...see if I can let him now." The communicator was disconnected as soon as he had finished speaking, and then he turned back to the group, who were huddled at the center of the room, quietly whispering to one another. When Felicity realized that his little conversation was over, she turned her head towards him and called, "What was that about?"

Batman stared for a moment longer than he should have at Diggle, before he sighed and said in a quiet tone, "Nothing. Just a status update on the city," he added, for a little extra security. To make sure that there was no suspicion. But the look in Diggle's eye unnerved him, as the two vigilante's locked gazes, and held it for a few moments, before Diggle turned away, back to his conversation with the group. Batman sighed, as he finally realized he had yet another long night ahead of him.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

His lungs were burning, his chest tightening; feeling as if something inside of him would burst at any moment in a split second of blinding _agony_. It was _so_ dark...he couldn't tell if his eyes were open or not, as they swiveled in their sockets, searching for something, _anything_ , but all his receptors received was an enveloping darkness as his body was thrown around weightlessly; a darkness that wrapped around him tightly and suffocated him it was dark and his lungs were burning and...

Inhale?

 _No_.

The impact had stolen whatever air had been left in his lungs, plunging him deep into the darkness, the chill of the water like knives pricking at every inch of his skin, seeping into his skin and invading his bones and creating a pain that was unique unto itself, and his whole body _stung_. The water burned his eyes, the salt in it stinging and itchy, his vision blurry and unable to see anything but an unending darkness, dark like the tonic he had taken as a child...

He tried to refocus his mind; he needed to focus, focus was key. The burning in his eyes worsened and his limbs were stinging, tingling, and this situation reminded him deeply of the last time he had been confused and submerged in liquid...

The water rocked him again, something heavy hitting the water and sending waves over him, somersaulting his body over and over and over again, the water invading his nose and flooding his throat and leaving a bitter taste in his mouth as he thrashed, trying to figure out which way was up as he kicked, trying to make his dead, numb, limbs respond to him.

 _Air_.

That was what he _desperately_ needed. As he kicked again to propel himself in the direction of what he prayed was the surface of the water, something sharp caught him on the ankle as he kicked at the water; he could feel it slicing through his skin but the pain just _wasn't_ there, the cold having taken most of the feeling from his skin. His head was swimming as he finally caught a glimpse of the pale moonlight illuminating the waving surface of the water, what seemed like an impossible ways away; his vision was swimming, black dots and fuzz spreading over his field of vision and threatening to take it from him completely. His heart was pounding in his chest, a sense of panic and deja vu and several other things that he didn't really want to acknowledge right now rose into his throat, forming a tight ball as he struggled harder for the oxygen that lay just above the water...in the moonlight. The moonlight reflecting off the water was so beautiful from his viewpoint...

And then, for a moment, everything around him was green, a caustic, sickening _green_ distorting the moonlight he had been looking at, the image mutating until all he could see was the edge of a metal tank, and above that, where the moonlight had fallen, a catwalk and the reflection of a man clad in black.

And in the next second it was gone and the dark water returned, and his was vision fading at the edges, spots and specks crawling all over his eyes like a veil and he was going to pass out god he was going to pass out in the water and-

He broke through the surface of the water ungracefully with a wheezing gasp, the air filling his shrunken lungs and forcing the water in his lung back out, his chest expanding as he sputtered and choked the water out of his mouth and snorted it from his nose, coughing and kicking at the water to keep his head from being re-submerged in the disturbed water, the waves rocking into his body with force, sending him back and forth, his vision tilting sickeningly as he gasped repeatedly, relief flooding through his entire body as the much needed oxygen coursed through his poisoned bloodstream, pushing back the black in his vision. He reached up with a hand and shook it, and then frantically wiped the salty water from his eyes, blinking repeatedly to clear his burning eyes as he looked around himself. It was dark, but the moon illuminated a good portion of everything around him, the jutting rocks visible from their random positions, jutting up out of the water like arms of the drowning, he thought, and it suddenly occurred to him how lucky he was to have missed _all_ of them. Clearly, he thought as a body with a gaping hole floated past him, others had _not_ been.

And then it set in as he exhaled a shuddering breath. An exhaustion _so_ heavy that he almost stopped moving altogether, his eyelids drooping suddenly and every muscle in his body screaming at him to stop moving, his limbs filling with a lead that seemed to heavy to move. All he could think about was how damn _cold_ he was, as a forceful shiver shuddered bodily through him. He spit more of the nasty tasting water out of his mouth, shaking his head to clear it from his face as he turned himself around, searching for something, _anything,_ to pull himself from the water as he bobbed under again. He was not stupid. He would be lucky to escape _without_ hypothermia. It wouldn't be too far off. He could _feel_ it, creeping up on him, making his limbs heavy and his skin _so_ numb that he could no longer feel the pain; and clouding his mind, urging him to close his eyes for just a moment, rest his eyes... _sleep_...

And that's when he spotted it through his blurred vision. An outcropping, like a beach almost, jutting out from the side of the island that the asylum had been so neatly nestled upon. He needed to get over there; he needed to swim himself over there and drag himself out of this and...

 _He was so tired._

He pushed himself anyway, feeling his mind slipping from him even further, dipping under the water for a fraction of a second, before coming back up, coughing and sputtering the water away as he began to swim forward, one arm over the other, towards the beach, towards something _solid_. It was then that another wave hit, this one larger than the last, coming in over his head and plummeting down on his head, forcing him down again, somersaulting him forward and slamming him into one of the rocks jutting out from the water. He heard the crack of his skull against the rock before he even felt it, and it knocked his vision black for a split second, before he shook his head and clawed for the surface, fingertips rising up out of the water as he broke the surface.

He got a small breath of air, when he felt a pressure against his ankle, something hooking around it, the warmth that seeped out from him as a result indicated to him that his ankle was bleeding, probably from whatever had sliced him in the water, and then suddenly the surface seemed like it was getting further and further away, and he kicked harder, drug under by the weight on his ankle like an anchor, pulling him down whenever he got to the surface; and at first he felt the pressure seemed like something metal, a piece of the helicopter or debris, and his heart jumped to his throat, until it slipped down to his foot and he realized it was not a chunk of metal but a _hook_.

That was when he folded his lean body, bringing his knee upwards as he reached down blindly with a pale hand and grasped the metal that was hooked around his foot, hauling it upwards, his muscles burning and everything within him telling him to just let go, not to worry about it, to sleep, but instead he kicked harder towards the surface, holding the hook close to his chest, taking another gasping breath as his head emerged into the cold night air.

" _Christ_!" He sputtered as the weight pulled him under for another moment, " _Fuck_!" Shaking his head he hauled the hook higher, arm protesting greatly from where it had been dislocated earlier, the bones in his shoulder grinding against one another, the pain renewed but lessened from the chill in the water, as he kicked towards the beach with force, all the while the weight threatening to pull him under again and again and again. When his hand finally grasped at the beach, and his feet finally hit something akin to solid ground, even as it caved under his weight like sand, he hauled himself and the hook upwards, until there was dry ground under his knees and he hauled just a little bit further, before dropping the hook and staying there on his hands and knees gasping for breath and spitting water, as the world began to swirl around him in a corkscrew type of way, he stomach twisting and rolling over.

He gasped once or twice, eyes blown wide as he stared at the sand, kneading it in his fingers, stomach heaving as he stayed there on his hands and knees; and then he dry heaved, once, twice, before he felt it rise in his throat and the contents of his stomach splattered all over the ground in front of him. He breathed heavily for a moment, his heart thudding in his chest, before he wiped his mouth with whatever was left of his sleeve. His whole body was numb, and he was aware he couldn't feel much of anything, which was bad, he calculated, as he couldn't tell if he was truly, seriously, injured or not; but then he shook his head slowly, turning his head to his right, where Aaron Cash's body lay limply on it's back on the ground, head lolled to the side and eyes closed. Joker sneered, spitting the nasty saltwater and the taste of vomit from his mouth as he crawled towards the body. He leaned over it once, pressing an ear to the chest.

He then pulled himself back, sitting on his haunches as he lifted a fist high into the air, and struck Cash as hard as he could in the solar plexus, the force of the blow radiating pain through his wrist.

The guard coughed loudly, body spasming, water spewing from his open mouth as he gasped and sputtered and choked, eyes flying open as he sat up and almost smacked foreheads with the Joker. Joker instead leaned back, avoiding him as Cash threw up even more water onto the sand. Joker made a face of disgust, before turning away and crawling a little further up the beach, careful to avoid his own vomit...and then collapsed on his stomach heavily. He _hurt_. He hurt in every sense of the word. He _hurt_. That was the first thing he registered as _some_ feeling crept back into his frozen form. His shoulder ached unbelievably and felt incredibly stiff, almost immovable; his back hurt and his neck hurt and his head ached, his left ankle burned and he _knew_ it was bleeding, although he didn't know how badly. The rest of him just _ached,_ as he tried to slow his breathing and keep his drooping eyelids open. A voice from beside him startled him.

"If you go to sleep now, you'll probably never wake up."

He popped open a green eye at the rough sounding voice, looking up and staring Cash in the face with irritated eyes. He was standing a foot or so from Joker's prone form, arms wrapped around his soaked body, shivering madly as he gazed down at the clown with soft brown eyes. Joker simply snorted, dropping his eye closed again, his view of the sand and his vomit puddle and Cash's boots fuzzy, trying his best to ignore the other man, now rethinking his decision to pull him ashore.

"You need to get up, Joker. Unless you _want_ to die. Which... _might_ even be for the be-..." Cash trailed off with a heavy sigh, unwilling to finish his sentence.

Joker simply laughed this time in response, a tired, dry, mocking, body shaking thing, as his eyes reopened again, unfocused. "You're _right_. That whole, 'I'm a bane on society and my death will be celebrated' speel." He chuckled as he put his hands underneath him hesitantly, pushing himself into a sitting position with a groan, hissing at the pain in his shoulder he reached up to clutch at it.

"You're shoulder is dislocated."

Joker's head snapped to the side as his piercing green eyes focused on Cash, "Figure that one out all by yourself, did ya? _Captain_ _Obvious_ ," He snapped, glaring at Cash, " _You_ oughta know. _You_ did it."

Aaron opened his mouth to retort, but closed it at the realization that it was, indeed, his fault. So he simply nodded in humble agreement, approaching Joker slowly as he said, "You're right Joker. And I'm sorry. It was cowardly," he raised his hand and hook in front of him, as he knelt down to him, the way he was taught to deal with any unstable, unrestrained patient, "I'll help you...if you let me." Cash motioned to Joker's dislocated shoulder, which hung uselessly at an odd angle, "If I fix it you can move it again, and it won't hurt so much."

Joker eyed him with a poker face, as if considering some _monumental_ decision that would impact him for years to come. They simply stared at each other blankly for what had to have been a few minutes at least, before Joker finally answered and quietly, with a straight tone, "You know," Cash noted that his tone sounded saner than he had ever heard it, "It take a good man to admit his cowardice...and for that," the smile returned, for just a moment as he finished, "I think I might even respect you...a little bit...maybe." Joker them motioned to his arm, indicating to Cash that he had accepted his offer.

Cash was aware of the green eyes glued to him as he reached forward, grasping the Joker's lame arm at the wrist with his good hand, which hung at an odd angle limply, as he warned him, "Be prepared."

In one swift motion, he pulled, pushed, and with an audible pop, the shoulder was back in it's socket as Cash kept his gaze glued to the Joker's face. Joker's eye twitched in a barely noticeable wince, but no sound of pain escaped him. He simply pulled his arm back from Cash's grasp roughly, cradling his arm for a moment and glaring at Cash with a look that told Cash to back off. So Cash simply took a few steps backward for safety. He knew what the Joker was capable of. So he simply turned, and began walking up the bank, leaving the Joker sitting in the sand alone, rubbing his shoulder idly.

" _Hey_!" The high pitched, cracking screech startled him as he turned his head to look back behind him at the Joker, who still sat in the sand in the same position Cash had left him, "Where do you think _you're_ going huh?!" His voice wavered on the brink of desperation, face a distorted mixture of anger and desperation, and Cash felt something soften slightly within him and he cursed himself for his own good nature.

"Up the bank." He motioned towards it, "We're soaked to the bone in freezing water and it's cold and I for one don't want to die of hypothermia." He sighed as he turned back to the cliff face, "I gotta family to get home too." He added without thinking, wincing when he did and instantly regretting it.

When he turned to look back at the Joker, the man was eying him intensely, eyebrow raised, considering his words seriously for a moment, before he cast his gaze to the ground silently. Cash simply huffed, turning back around with a shake of his head and continuing his trek back up the hill towards the rocky cliff face. Cash tilted his head backwards to look up towards the top. It was steep, shear, and an impossible climb. He just stared at it longingly, wishing he could just go home and wishing that he could go back and just choose not to come into work that day. But life didn't work that way. Obviously.

"There's _is_ a way back up, you know."

The voice startled him, sounding far to close for comfort, and when he twisted his body around in surprise there was the Joker, standing slightly behind him and off to the right, gazing at him with piercing green eyes that seemed clouded and fatigued, a hand wrapped around his injured arm at the elbow. He pointed forwards into the dark, " _That_ _way_."

Cash eyed him with a raised brow, "And it leads back up onto high ground?"

Joker nodded.

"How do you know that?"

A familiar smile crept across his face as he shivered violently, "You're asking _me_ that?"

Cash snorted, turning away, and heading forwards into the dark. When he realized that Joker had stayed rooted to the spot behind him, he called over his shoulder, "Aren't you coming?"

Joker raised an eyebrow, gazing around himself, then at the ground, then back up at Cash. " _Yeah_."

Cash offered him the first friendly smile he had ever given him, and motioned towards himself, "Come on then. Let's get out of here." As Joker was passing him, something moved in Cash, and he reached out without thinking and dropped a hand on the clown's shoulder, stopping him. Joker jerked visibly at the touch, snapping his head towards Cash with a raised eyebrow as the guard spoke, "Wait a sec. I wanted to ask you something."

Joker simply stood there with eyebrows raised, moving his hand in indication for Cash to continue, and when the guard still waited, Joker rolled his eyes and snapped, "What?!"

Cash licked his dry lips as he answered, "First," He took a much needed breath, "I wanted to...thank you for saving my life. I won't forget it but...Why'd you pull me from the water?"

The atmosphere around them shifted slightly, as Joker locked eyes with him, and the he _smiled_. "You want to know the truth?" He rolled his head, voice noticeably shaking with a dark chuckle, "Or the _lie_?"

Cash considered it for a short moment, before he retorted, "The truth," knowing that the answer probably wasn't something that he wanted to hear; the Joker's mind worked in ways that no one could imagine, plotting things far ahead of the actual event even, and for a moment Cash wished he could change his answer. Joker's smile just seemed to grow wider, his red lips stretching and his face twisting malevolently, eyes locked onto Cash, sending a chill through him that he would later blame on the freezing water and the cold air.

"I wanted you to _owe_ me something."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Butch pushed open the door as quietly and cautiously as he could, trying his best to gauge the atmosphere in the room before he entered. His footsteps were as quiet as he could get them for a man of his size, as he closed the door with a click behind him. He winced at the sound.

"Butch?"

Shit. He sighed, "Boss."

"Come here, Butch."

Butch walked forward hastily, towards the large armchair that was facing a warm fire, burning fresh in the fireplace. His boss sat leaning back in the chair, right arm resting on the armrest, hand rubbing at his lips and chin, as if he were deep in thought, blue eyes glued to the fire, watching it dance and lap at the air, the embers of the burning logs falling to the bottom, burning subtly, the warmth enveloping him in it's trance-like hold, as he closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply.

He loved the scent of fresh burning wood. It reminded him of his childhood...his mother...

"Hi Boss."

Penguin popped open one blue eye, and focused it on Butch's chubby, flushed face. He closed it once more, momentarily disgusted, before sighed loud enough for Butch to hear it, before he smiled warmly, inhaling deeply one more time. "So," Penguin tried to make his voice as friendly and inviting as possible, "You've done everything I've asked? Everything is secure? I'm sure you wouldn't dare come back in here unless you were finished." He opened his eyes now, focusing them on Butch, who shifted nervously, tugging at his collar. "You wouldn't want to disappoint me, would you Butch?"

Butch swallowed, tugging at his collar once more, beads of sweat forming on his skin as he answered, trying to keep the stammering in his voice at bay, "Of-of course not!"

Penguin smiled, satisfied at the answer, before he glanced back at the fire, "You see? That's why I love ya, Butch." He swiveled his head in Butch's direction, "You know I love you, don't you, Butch?" Butch simply nodded his head vigorously, swallowing another lump that had formed in his throat. "Good." There was a long stretch of silence, before Penguin spoke again, "I have a meeting arranged at midnight. I need to be there. And I'd like you to accompany me."

"Of course!" Butch agreed, but then floundered for a moment and asked, "Wait, where?"

"The warehouse."

"Oh..." Butch trailed off, deep in thought, and for a moment Penguin became extremely frustrated, and he wondered, as he did off and on, why he had spared this man in the first place, and why, pray tell, he still kept him around. But he pushed it to the back of his mind as he always did, as he said in a ton that still held it's original friendly tone but took a turn of solemness, "With all these explosions and riots and things going on, being in Gotham must be much more dangerous now than it was before."

"Yeah," Butch nodded in agreement, voice trailing off as he wondered what exactly he was agreeing too. But Penguin continued unhindered, the friendliness in his voices upping almost to the insincere, and this put Butch on edge.

"I wonder how my mother is enjoying her new found safety."

The realization hit Butch like a ton of bricks, or a sock to the stomach, almost like a dry heave. The world spun around him for a moment as he choked on his heart, which beat frantically in his throat. He swallowed it down as he opened and closed his mouth several times, emitting small choking, whining like noises as Penguin rose from his chair, arms dropped down to his sides, left eye a little more squinted than the other, a hint of something Butch didn't recognize hidden behind them, body leaning to one side, as he said, tone dripping with hidden venom, smile twitching at once side, "Right, Butch?"

Butch choked on his words, "I-I well, Boss, you didn't, I mean you-" he struggled with his words, as a cold hand grasped him by the shirt collar, pulling him downwards so he was face to face with Penguin, who's smile had vanished altogether, being replaced with a look of rage and mania, voice teetering on the brink of screaming, shaking as he tried to keep his voice calm and friendly, "Then I suggest you," he poked Butch in the chest with a long spindly finger, "Find," another poke, "my," and another, "mother." He inhaled deeply, removing his finger and looking Butch in the eyes, and smiled.

"NOW!"

Butch was gone in a moment, throwing himself through the door in a panic, letting it slam shut behind him as his thunderous footsteps disappeared. Penguin simply sighed, lips pursed in frustration as he looked up to the sky in a way that said, 'why me, God?', before he turned back to his chair, readying himself to take a seat and await his mother's arrival. He would offer her tea, and they would chat and catch up, and maybe eat some dessert as the fire warmed them and-

The phone rang.

He huffed as he turned angrily towards hit, grasping it and lifting it from the cradle a bit too hard, shoving it to his ear as he nearly hollered, "Hello?!" 

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, before a effeminate voice answered slowly, "Mr. Cobblepot?" The accent was small, but still noticeable to his keen ears as he wrinkled his brow in confusion.

"Who is this?"

The woman on the other line ignored his question entirely, sending a spark of irritation through him as she spoke, "There has been a change of arrangement. The meeting at the warehouse is happening now."

Penguin smiled, "Say no more. I'll leave right away and meet you in," he drawled, looking down at his watch, "fifteen minutes or less? Guaranteed." The line clicked as it went dead. Penguin again pursed his lips in irritation, dropping the phone back on it's cradle crinkling his face as he hobbled towards the door, shaking his head and mumbling about propriety and proper mannerisms.

" _Rude_."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Ow! _God DAMNIT_!" His voice echoed loud enough to ring Cash's eardrums, vibrating through his skull and bouncing off the wall; and for a moment Cash could have sworn he felt the tattered asylum shift around them dangerously as he turned to shoot a stern look with eyebrows drawn, at the Joker, who had tripped over a jagged, broken, pipe and had cracked his head off a chunk of rubble. He lay there now, on his knees and elbows, face leaning towards the ground, hands clasped over his face, fingertips digging into the skin of his face as he groaned in pain.

"Could you _please,_ keep it the _fuck_ _down_?" Cash hissed, ducking down his head as a small chunk came tumbling down from crumbling ceiling above.

The fingers that covered Joker's left eye parted as he glared at Cash with his uncovered eye, brows lowered as he moved his hands from his face to his forehead, rubbing it continuously as he raised himself to his knees, steadying himself with a hand on the cracked floor. "Could _you_ keep it the fuck down?" He snapped as he mimicked Cash's voice, pushing himself up off the floor with his hand, standing a little unsteadily on his feet as his free arm waved around a little in the air to keep his body from tumbling backwards as he muttered in an irritated tone, "Why don't _you_ try tripping and whacking your head a couple of times?"

"What was that?" Cash asked, as he gazed hard at the Joker, eyebrow raised, although he had already heard what the Joker had mumbled under his breath, left hand still rubbing furiously at the injured spot on his forehead, Cash quipped, "I thought you were supposed to be _funny_." It was meant as a jab but came out as more of a statement, much to his chagrin, but when he glanced at the Joker, expecting to see anger, or homicidal rage perhaps, all he received was an irritated glare, heavy fatigue laced heavily behind green eyes, as he trudged past him, heaving a sigh as he answered in a surprisingly calm, almost defeated tone, "Yeah _well_ , I'm not having the _best_ of days, so _excuse_ me if the comedy is at a _low._ "

Cash snorted, chuckling dryly as he turned around to follow the patient as he walked forward carefully over the rubble, leaving bloody footprints behind him in his wake. "You know you're bleeding, right?"

" _I,_ " Joker heaved a sigh as he climbed up and over a large chunk of concrete and dropped himself down over the other side, "Am aware this."

"Hm," Cash simply hummed in response, following suit as he vaulted his body over the rubble rather easily, landing on his boots heavily with a thud as he continued on through the ruined remains of Arkham Asylum. He looked along the walls, and realized that they were on the main floor, near block A, close to the main intake and the front doors. He remembered walking this way on his patrol route every morning that he had come into work, usually with a coffee in hand and gun slung along his back, humming an old fashioned tune to himself as he did so. "You think we'll ever find a way out of here?" He wondered aloud, absently.

"What do I look like, a magic eight ball?"

" _Ha_ ," Cash laughed, shaking his head as he reached out toward the wall with his good hand to steady himself as some rubble shifted unsteadily beneath his feet. They traversed the rest of the hallway in silence, the only sound filling Cash's ears the shifting of rubble and Joker's overly-heavy breathing, shoulders heaving with the stress of his breaths. Cash stared at the ground as they walked, the once neatly swept and mopped floor covered with blood stains, rubble, and charred pieces of the building. He sighed, almost sadly, to think of what they had lost here. But mostly he was just glad to be alive. Once, before all this had happened, he had hated and detested every patient in this god forsaken asylum. And the Joker had been top of the list, the only one Cash hated more than him was Killer Croc, the half-man thing that had taken his hand. His progress came to an abrupt halt however, when he ran into something solid, stumbling back a step or two just to see two green eyes staring back at him like he was the stupidest human being on planet earth.

"What is it?" Cash asked, his brown eyes traveling past the Joker's still form, only to focus on the hallway in front of them, which was very effectively blocked off by rubble. Cash pressed his lips into a hard line as he said, crestfallen, "How're we gonna get past that?" He heaved a defeated sigh and said in an almost depressive tone, "We'll have to back track and see if there's another route around it."

"No we won't." The surprising turn in the Joker's tone alerted Cash, as the tall man turned away from him, head tilted back at an extreme angle, and Cash followed his gaze with his eyes, all the way up to the hole in the ceiling.

"How're we gonna get up _there_?" Cash asked, pointing up towards the gaping hole in the ceiling that looked as if it might come crumbling down at any moment, and possibly even crushing them to death.

Joker simply smiled at him, turning his head at an awkward angle to face him, as he said in an almost happy tone, " _You're_ not."

Everything in Cash instantly went on alert, and he took a step away from the madman, who was grinning wildly, as he questioned in a tone he hoped didn't sound overly cautious, "What do you mean?"

Joker simply raised an eyebrow at the question, rolled his eyes and shook his head as if the answer to Cash's question was the most obvious things in the world, before rolling his shoulders and muttering, " _Well_ , because you fixed my shoulder..." It took Cash a moment to realize what the clown was doing, before he took off at a running start towards the wall, launching himself from the side wall to the crumbling ceiling above his body uncoiling like a spring. His long fingers latched onto it, and for a moment Cash thought he might fall as his lanky body swung precariously back and forth, or that perhaps the already crumbling ceiling would further collapse, but instead, Joker simply pulled himself over the edge with a bit of difficulty and a groan of pain, and disappeared from view. Cash could feel his heart stutter in his chest, and a slight panic rise in his stomach, and an anger begin to build within his chest, kicking himself inwardly for trusting something as psychotic and unpredictable as the Joker. And just as he was about to move toward the gaping hole in the ceiling, either to yell or berate or call out he wasn't sure, but a large chest looking thing materialized at the edge of the collapsing ceiling, dropping heavily towards him.

"Whoa, shit!" He jumped to the side, throwing himself heavily to the ground as the large, dust covered, oak chest slammed heavily into the floor, the middle of the chest cracking and almost splitting it in two, throwing a large cloud of dust everywhere and making him cough as he pushed himself back up into a sitting position, waving his hand in front of his face to clear his field of vision. A series of giggles followed, as a white face appeared over the edge with a wide red smile. "Sorry! I shoulda yelled, ' _TIMBER'_!" He made a waving motion with his hand as his loud voice boomed through the empty halls, nodding his head towards the _oak_ chest. Cash cringed as he stood back up, shaking his head with a scowl on his face, and upon seeing the scowl, Joker's smile simply grew wider with a simple satisfaction as he called down, "Lighten up CashCow! You should be _happy_ I dropped the chest on you! _After all,_ " His voice dropped in tone and the humor dissipated almost as quickly as it had originated, " _I could have left you_." 

Cash simply snorted, lip raised in a scowl, then sighed, as he climbed onto the broken chest, readying himself for the jump and trying to determine how he was going to get himself up there effectively with just one good hand. He already knew that the chances of him being able to jump high enough to grip the ledge were slim, but he readied himself anyway, curling his body like a spring, and then releasing as he shot himself forward and upward with a cry, hands reaching up toward the sky in a vain attempt, and as he felt his fingertips brush concrete, he screwed his eyes shut, preparing for the fall that was next.

But instead he felt a steady hand wrap securely around his wrist, the strength of which surprised him, and when he opened his eyes back up he was met with the blankest stare he had ever seen, and then the voice that came with it, emotionless and maybe even bored, "You gonna hang there all day, or what? Cause I get better things to do than to lay here all day and hold _your_ ass."

Cash blinked a few times and nodded, using his good hand to grab the ledge and, with Joker's help, haul himself up. He groaned as he stood to his feet, stretching his back as he said, "I'm getting to old for this shit."

To his surprise, he received an amused laugh from the Joker, who had begun his walk down the next hallway towards the fire exit, a singular red light casting shadows across his pale face, as he called back with a smile, "You know what they say! You're only as old as you feel. And _I_ for one..." He smirked, his eyes darkening, " _Feel_ _great_!"

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Quentin sighed as he sauntered over to the large glass window overlooking just a piece of the large city, the dark sky casting an ominous glow over the dark, foreboding, buildings that made up Gotham City. He wondered how he had gotten mixed up in all of this. Sometimes he cursed himself for his devotion to justice and public safety, his moral code, but even now he didn't really mean it. He knew he was supposed to be here. His heart had clenched at the distress call that his police department had received that morning. Thanks to his daughter and their friends, his city was steadily becoming safer every day. And now, he had a chance to help another city. And a city far worse than his at that. His blue eyes scanned slowly over the city, eyes searching the dark alleyways below, as he marveled at the height they stood.

He turned away from the window, the room relatively quiet, most of the officers on the thirteenth floor, assisting with the set up of the surviving inmates of Arkham Asylum. Quentin had declined to follow Gordon. He did not really want to see the crazies. Or the 'Gotham City Crazies', as people of other cities often called them. He had a heavy dislike of being around people with mental illness, and it almost gave him the chills just thinking about it. He had been briefed before arrival about Gotham's most dangerous criminals, and just remembering their pictures made him slightly sick. They had nothing like them in Star City, and Quentin was grateful. He was not used to dealing with such heavy corruption, pollution, and insanity. He hated to say it but Gotham City really was as bad as they said. And it hurt him that he couldn't help as much as he wanted too. He crossed the quiet, mostly empty room, his feet silent on the carpet of the room.

He stopped as he approached the glass wall on the other side of the room, inhaling deeply as he appreciated the view of the bay. Something smoldering in the darkness across the water caught his eye, and it was only then that he realized it was the remnants of Arkham Asylum.

They hadn't been kidding when they had told him that Arkham Asylum had been destroyed. No wonder they had had to move so many patients...Gordon had told him about the helicopter accident, and all the lives that had been lost...and the fact that Gotham's number one most dangerous serial killer was either dead or on the loose somewhere.

Quentin sighed, getting ready to turn away from the window, when a vibrating in his pocket alerted him that he had a phone call. So he reached down and retrieved the blinking cell phone, making a face when he read the number. Unknown...he pressed the answer button as he said a cautious, "Hello?"

"Hello Quentin." The voice was familiar, almost to the point where he could place it to a face, a name, but it eluded him as he answered, "Who is this?"

The voice was silent for a long moment, before it answered, "That's not important right now. I just wanted to give you a message."

"What is it?"

"I'll take good care of Star City while your gone." His eyes widened and the voice crackled, and then the line was dead, a Quentin stood there, phone to his ear, mouth slightly agape and eyebrows drawn in confusion, as he simply lowered the phone and ended the call, stuffing it back into his pocket slowly. "What they hell is going on?" He shook his head, turning away from the window, right as something near the rubble of the asylum caught his eye. He turned back for a moment, squinting a little as he gazed into the darkness, but when he saw nothing, he shrugged, turning and walking away from the window, towards the elevators.

He could have sworn he'd seen headlights.


End file.
